


Queens and Consorts

by tafih



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender, Ooku: The Inner Chambers
Genre: Alternate Universe - The Selection Fusion, Concubines, Eventual Katara/Zuko (Avatar), F/F, F/M, Fire Nation Lore (Avatar), Fire Nation Royal Family, Fire Nation culture, Gen, Lu Ten has an heir before he dies, Palace Intrigue, Politics, Princes & Princesses, Rebel Leader Zuko, Rebellion, Soulmates, The Blue Spirit - Freeform, Worldbuilding, Zuko loves kids, Zutara
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-02-24 21:34:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 26,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22004797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tafih/pseuds/tafih
Summary: Seven women — these queens and consorts — live their lives tethered to the men that rule over them, yet they find that the love in their hearts is stronger than any war men might wage.These are their stories.(Fundamentally, an Ooku: The Inner Chambers AU but also “If Zuko was a Rebel Leader before the Iceberg” AU)
Relationships: Aang/Original Character, Azula/Ty Lee (Avatar), Katara/Zuko (Avatar), Lu Ten/Original Female Character, Ozai (Avatar)/Original Character, Ozai/Ursa (Avatar), The Gaang & Zuko (Avatar), Ursa/Original Character
Comments: 34
Kudos: 122





	1. The Consort

**Author's Note:**

> I'm taking a break from my other Zutara fics at the moment (sorry y'all) but this has been something I've been working on for the past year and it's become a real passion project. 
> 
> I was re-reading Ooku: the Inner Chambers (which is an EXCELLENT manga and I highly recommend it) and working on an Avatar Katara AU when they sort of melded together in my head and birthed this. It also always concerned me that Ozai never had a queen during his reign as Fire Lord...like the nations and dynasties that the Fire Nation was based on would have never allowed that. I realize that him having a queen isn't necessary to the main plot of ATLA at all but it was something that bothered me enough to start working with certain ideas. 
> 
> So if you're into palace intrigues and familial tensions, this is the fic for you! lol 
> 
> This fic is divided into eight chronological chapters, usually of three vignettes/sections. Each chapter follows the life of a particular woman tied to the court of the Fire Nation:
> 
>   1. Ursa
>   2. A captain of the guard,
>   3. Lu Ten's concubine,
>   4. Lu Ten's daughter,
>   5. Azula,
>   6. Katara,
>   7. (An interlude that visits all the previous 6 women)
>   8. then, finally, Izumi 
> 

> 
> I hope you guys enjoy! I've had a blast writing this and building the world of the FN palace.

# The Consort 

## {Ursa}

△

_Death and solitude_

_Are all that can fill her days_

_In this crimson cage_

▽

The hoofs of the ostrich-horses upon the beaten earth are like the clatter of raindrops on rooftops. 

She sits in the carriage house as it rumbles over stone and dirt, a gilded cage that demonstrates her great power and her great lack of it. 

Tears come at the thought, always and enduring, as constant as her prison stands upon the foundation of those draped in crimson robes. But then she peers down to her lap, to see the boy who looks so much like his father but inherits nothing of his nature. 

To her, he is a miracle for that alone. 

But the spirits know he is so much more. 

He is her everything — love, her past, her future. 

She studies the features of his face — curves of his cheeks, the bridge of his nose, the blanket of his lashes. Though closed now with slumber, his gilded eyes shine brighter and purer than all the gold that paints the palace. His face illuminates the darkness of the carriage and the depths of her own disparaging thoughts. 

He murmurs slightly in his sleep, his crown of hair whispers against her palm like the rare wind. 

“You will do so many great and magnificent things,” she mutters as her love and prophecy fill the chasm of her body, then overflow from her as she strokes his head. “You will be better than your betters. Stronger in ways the strong can never comprehend. You are everything I couldn’t be and everything your father should be. You are Zuko.” 

She looks out into the streets, the world blanketed in grey and water, through the bars of the small window of the carriage — bars that will always be there. 

So Zuko, inside, her world shall be. 

## ⧍⧍⧍

The air is full of death. 

But, then again, it always was. 

Ursa breathed in death the moment she stepped into the Chambers of the Palace Interior, as the curtain rose for her most terrifying role — the silent pet of a power-hungry prince. 

By now, she is trained — the perfect beautiful swallow-lark that sings when told, and is silent otherwise, beautiful and representative for every single moment until her own death. 

Even now, when she mourns for her sister-in-law. 

Iroh weeps mutely over her casket, his hair nearly as white as his robes. Lu Ten stands dutifully beside him, with a calm visage befit for a prince of stature. He too is dressed in snow and milk. 

The one color that unites the players on this stage, of criminals who typically adorn themselves with black jade or gold against their scarlet costumes, is white. 

Pure. 

Untouched. Unadulterated. 

The color of Death. 

The only thing that makes all men and women equal. 

“So ends the life of Lady Jai Hua, Royal Princess Consort of Crown Prince Iroh of the great Kasai Dynasty, mother of Prince Lu Ten,” the firesage announces, without emotion or regard, finishing the last of the rites. “May Agni guide her to meet with the spirits and our ancestors. May her flames forever burn.” 

Every being in the chamber proclaims, “May her flames forever burn.” 

Then they all bow their heads in reverence as their final farewell to her. Most do so out of obligation, but many do out of genuine grief. 

Tears flow from her eyes as she lifts up to see the decorated coffin lifted up and carried into the furnace. 

Ursa always found a friend in Jai Hua; now she has one less companion in this unique solitude cursed upon their station. 

Crown Prince Iroh falls to his knees in a silent sob, stifling the wailing so adamantly shown on his features. Lu Ten kneels before the furnace and bows to the ground in the direction of his mother’s body. 

“Mother,” Zuko mutters quietly from his height at her knees. “What are they doing to Auntie?” 

The thousand things she can say in response float away in her consciousness. “They are sending her to the spirits,” her voice as soft as her soul. 

“But why are they burning her?” he asks, anger and confusion coloring his tone. 

“That’s how we meet them, my darling. Do not worry. She will be fine,” she lies smoothly and sweetly, bending down to his level and smoothing out his garments. Thankfully, they are in the back, away from could-be onlookers who would judge the turmoil of a child of four years. 

The gongs sound as the body burns, reverberating their mournful note again and again until the ceremony ends. 

When Iroh stands at the end of the hall to receive condolences, Zuko approaches without appropriate decorum and hugs his uncle at his knees. His tears streaming down his pinched face. 

“He is too soft,” Ozai mutters to her as they advance forward, both of them watching. Behind them, the wetnurse holds the sleeping Azula. “How is he supposed to be a leader or lord when he constantly weeps.” 

“Understanding one’s emotions does not make one weak,” Ursa replies in a tight whisper, looking at her feet instead of her husband. 

“Is that a remark towards me, my dear?” Ozai asks, his tone goading, testing. 

“Of course not, my lord,” she utters, her instinctive response to his verbal engineering. “Merely an observation.” 

At this point, her lord husband remains silent, as they approach his honorable brother and pay their respects. Without feeling but with appropriate courtesy, Ozai gave his brother a few words of consolation. 

Early on in her tenure as the Princess Consort, Ursa took notice of how her husband valued relationships. 

To him, all persons in his periphery were a means to an end, and so he crafts his attachments to them with meticulous coordination. 

And that end has always been more power. 

He views Iroh as a gilded stepping stone, and so treats him with dignity until he is no longer of use. 

He views Lu Ten as a threat, the one to inherit the title and reign that he so desires, therefore treating him with caution and disdain.

He views her, his wife, as a brace beneath his foundation with her blood and lineage. He treats her with a cold control. 

He views all — from the highest-ranking minister to the lowest servant girl — as pawns in his game. Though Iroh might be the great champion of Pai Sho, Ozai plays the game of politics with terrifying acumen. 

Ursa observes her good-brother, holding his wife’s ashes in an alabaster urn, receiving sympathies with a tight bow. She watches it all. 

She can only watch. 

But she also knows. 

She knows the whole day is an omen, a foreboding portent for all consorts in this family of treachery and stratagems. 

So Ursa sighs and wonders when Death will come for her too, her only escape from the pillars of the palace. 

## ⧍⧍⧍

Like a jealous saber-tooth lion, the Imperial Queen Iylah has taken a great interest in Azula. It frightens Ursa, but everything about the Queen frightens Ursa. 

Then, there are times Azula frightens Ursa, too. 

The girl is only four herself, now, when the Queen beckons her to the Primary Chambers, the quarters designated for the Imperial Queen, for tea. 

But the Queen having tea with her granddaughter is not innocuous. It is a statement, a singular move part of a greater strategy, a declaration of preference. 

The Imperial Queen is of the Hono faction, a descendant of an earlier royal line that had cousins with Firelord Sozin, and has sought to maintain their power over the Palace. She is the birth mother of Ozai. 

Iroh was born of Azulon’s favorite concubine, the first male born of their father, then adopted by the Queen to establish him as the heir to the throne. Even with the birth of Ozai fifteen years later, Azulon would not be swayed to revoke Iroh’s birthright. 

So Queen Iylah’s unmissable favor towards the daughter of her trueborn son, truly speaks of her intentions in the politics of the Interior, to the extent where even a child understands. 

Though, Azula is no mere child. 

When the girl returns to their family apartments in the Primary Chambers, Ursa asks her how tea was, and noting a wooden toy in her hands. No doubt a gift and ploy. 

“Grandma is a snake,” Azula notes, matter-of-fact. “She says things but they’re not true. And her eyes are _ugly_.”

Ursa cannot help but smile a bit at this, knowing Azula probably meant something else and just did not know the right expression. She will need to talk to Ozai about finding Azula a rhetoric tutor. 

She presents her daughter with a porcelain bowl for the toy to be held in. “You didn’t like the toy?” 

“No,” Azula scoffs. “It’s stupid.” Then she sets it on fire in the palm of her small hand and tosses its burning mass inside. 

Watching the wooden plaything burn away into dust and ash, Ursa prevents herself from flinching and showing her fear, so states, “You shouldn’t call things stupid, Azula.” 

“Well, not outside, but here’s fine, isn’t it?” the girl retorts, dusting her hands off in the bowl with a sharp smile. 

The Interior of the Palace is an ornamental prison and Ursa has always foreseen her little ones thrashing in its choking grip. 

But, Azula is sharp and Zuko honorable. 

So perhaps, they will break free of the gilded bars that bind them. 

And that would be her only and greatest song. 

A melody of freedom, love, and hope. 

* * *

Her cage does not feel as solitary as it used to since she shares it with her children and they are picking at the locks.


	2. The Captain

# The Captain 

## {Mi-Ja}

△

_Standing proud, standing_

_Guard, ever watchful and ache_

_As men take and take_

▽

When the blossom is cut off from its branch by the sharpest wind, only then can its beauty be appreciated as it falls to the earth.

Mi-Ja always saw her life as one of short importance. She was to be like all great women of the Fire Nation, a brief and beautiful flame. 

Her grandmother was the younger sister of Sozin himself. 

Her mother the eldest daughter of a great general and war minister. 

So the spirits could only bless her with the ambition, wit, and beauty befitting her ancestry. Mi-Ja mastered firebending by the young age of fourteen, graduated from the Royal Academy with the highest of honors, and traveled throughout the empire to supplement her studies. 

Her life and ambition led to one singular goal - to enter the Palace Interior within the ranks of the Fireguard. 

The Fireguard were the most elite force of noblewomen in the entire empire. Trained with the halberd and sword, these master firebenders were the guards of the Royal family and all the women residing within the Interior. They were respected, revered, and greatly esteemed and furthermore, their captain stands as a member of the Privy Council and given freedoms, lands, titles, and honors usually untouched by a woman. 

When she first learned of them and of their captain, Mi-Ja believed that the role called her and could be meant only for her to fill it. Thus, she orchestrated every aspect of her life to eventually lead to her becoming the captain of the Fireguard. For all the days of her youth, Mi-Ja has noted how much the men in her life have taken from the women who gave any sense of rank. 

Her grandfather took liberties with other women, siring bastards through doxies and turmoil. 

Her father took his anger out on her mother, using fists and open palms. 

Her brother took the lands and titles that should have been hers, squandering and wasting any potential he might have had as the lord of their house through gambling and projects to merely sustain his pride. 

The day of her matriculation from the Royal Academy, though her own application and commendations were ready, an attendant of the Chamberlain of the Pavilion approached her and asked if she would be interested in a position within the Fireguard. 

She accepted immediately. 

But when her family was informed, her father raved and ranted like a persistent summer storm. To him, only those of little consequence or of impoverished aristos sent their daughters to be in the Fireguard and he would not squander his daughter or his chance for a good and economical match to strengthen their house. 

To prevent her from temptation, he quickly sent her to an abbey in the colonies, so that she might devote herself to the studies of righteous women and lose interest in the silly endeavors of her ambition. 

So again, her father took from her. 

And she repaid in kind. 

* * *

While in the Earth Kingdom colonies, in the service of the abbey, Mi-Ja took on the services as scholar and postulant easily. She studied the tenets of the Great Sages, took to their disciplines, and followed their practices. 

But that did not mean she did not remain penitent and still like a little lion-mouse. 

No, she was a dragon of fire and war. 

She spoke back, questioned everything - and all with feisty acumen and the sharpest wit. The monks and nuns, priors and prioresses knew not what to do with her. 

The only ones who did not give her defiance a second glance were the Mother Sage and Preceptor Yong, the young novice-master of the abbey. 

Mother Sage thoroughly enjoyed Mi-Ja’s company since her first day and knew that her actions were that of curiosity and in the pursuit of truth, rather than of nefarious defiance, _mostly_. So when complaints were brought to her concerning Mi-Ja, Mother Sage would ask the accuser what sin Mi-Ja committed. And if the only slight received was one to their pride, she would dismiss it and compel them to meditate upon the excesses of their hubris. 

Preceptor Yong, however, was just an ass. 

He was the only unmarried abbot of the region and women feasted on his singularity like beasts. So many of Mi-Ja’s new friends presented him with favors - locks of hair, gold trinkets, letters, and handwritten poems. Furthermore, Yong was barely handsome, with thin features and a slim body. But he had, Mi-Ja was compelled to admit, kind eyes and an even kinder disposition. 

“Thank Agni, sages and monks can wed. Oh, to be his wife." a friend would sigh, forlorn in imagined love and infatuation. "He is unlike any other man — all sweetness and wisdom.”

So Mi-Ja would scoff and ask, “So then is he even truly a man?” 

Because behind his spectacles and soft smile, Mi-Ja could sense a brand of self-righteousness and self-importance she knew to be in all men. Soon, her endeavors began to focus on him. 

She began to bait him, counter his authority, and goad him. 

Finally, his frustration outgrew his patience and he seethed at her, one day in the kitchens, “You natter like a poodle-monkey.” 

To which, she retorted, victorious, “And you look like one.” 

And so began their game. 

When he would come across her, he would send her to the other side of the campus to fetch something mundane and unnecessary. She would get it and set it two inches away from his reach so that he would have to rise to retrieve it. He would never call her by her name, only by “woman” or “lay-girl.” She would call him “Brother Younger-Than-He-Looks”. When she presented offerings, he would rearrange their order, claiming correction. When he went to a certain space to pray, she would arrive with a broom then sing loudly as she swept at the nonexistent leaves. 

At one point, the Mother Sage called her in, and asked why she wanted to rouse a quiet man’s anger. “Because it is fun,” Mi-Ja would reply. “Why does he want to rouse mine?” 

“Because he favors you,” the Mother Sage said with a knowing smile, which only made Mi-Ja frown in disbelief. 

She pushed the confusing assertion from her mind and continued as she had always done.

Then, the dreams came. 

Dreams of his flesh against hers. 

Dreams of his lips trailing down her spine. 

Dreams of his eyes fixed upon her and her alone. 

Dreams of a babe in her arms, adorned in the royal red, whispering that _Father will be home soon_ , and having Yong enter, kiss her forehead and then take the child with love in his eyes. 

She would rouse from those dreams, screaming. 

She tried to push him from her mind, sought clarity through prayer and meditation, especially when she heard that Preceptor Yong was to be engaged. 

Her friends wailed and wept at the news, others grew emboldened to pursue him with greater effort. Mi-Ja just focused on her work and doctrine, desperate to forget about him. 

Yet, her thoughts were always drawn to him. She could always sense when he entered the same room, feel his presence no matter where she was. She felt as though his eyes were upon her and it infuriated her. 

She turned to a learned sister of the abbey, asking for counsel and was directed to fast, devote herself to self-awareness and all distractions would fall like dry leaves in winter. If she could abstain from food, her spirit might abstain from hindrance. So she did, for three weeks, she fasted and felt no hunger, but her thoughts were still drawn to Preceptor Yong. 

Then on the final day of her fast, during her allotted time in the libraries, organizing tomes and copying texts, Preceptor Yong came to her and said, “Lady Mi-Ja, Mother Sage would like to speak with you. Please follow me,” then he bade her to walk behind him. 

The library had stood on the other side of the rectory to where the offices of the Mother Sage and the abbots were. The walk was long and at the height of the day, most were employed with their chores or in respite. So there was no one else as they walked the grounds, him three paces ahead of her. Despite this distance, however, Mi-Ja had become keenly aware that this was the only time she was alone with him. 

Unnerved by the silence between them, Mi-Ja sought to fill it and said, “I heard you are engaged, Preceptor Yong.” 

The teacher stilled his steps and turned his ear to her, but only just. “...How did you hear of this?”

She sneered. “It might be an abbey but rumors still circulate.” Her features then softened, feeling ashamed of her conduct. “I...forgive me, brother. I know that my words are rough and uncivil, but they were my only weapons in my youth.” 

The man said nothing, his back still to her and only his ear at attention. The rest of him was obviously lost in thought. 

So she went on, “With your new positions arising - to be an abbott and husband soon, I thought it would be best if I put my petty grievances aside, when it comes to my-” she corrected herself. “When it comes to you. You are a great teacher and you have been patient with me. Despite all my insolence, I do appreciate your person so I would like to call a truce.” 

Nothing changed in his actions or his aura. 

“If...if that pleases you,” she decided to add. 

“It matters not what pleases me,” he quickly stated, “I…” He finally turned to her and she saw him, truly, now. 

He looked weak, vulnerable, a thin reed draped in red. 

But she supposed she looked like an angry, biting little beast. 

Then he said, “I would like to be friends with you.” 

Her mind settled but her heart did not, still she spoke, “Good. Me too.” She walks on ahead of him, down the path.

“You…” he began; his voice stopped her. A soft syllable had the force of a great wall. “You have them too, don’t you?

She faced him, concerned about his meaning. “What? Have what?”

“Dreams, feelings, prophecies - all of it,” he muttered, breathless. He took a step to her and those three paces turned into three inches. 

“No,” she retorted immediately, her heart rattling. “I know not of what you mean.”

“Of us, you do see them—”

"How would you know that?" she snapped, unwittingly confessing. 

“Mi-Ja...Mother Sage calling for you was a farce—" Yong began. "I needed to be sure, I could not deal with the burden of uncertainty any longer. I told her that I had a spouse in mind and that surely was the source of those rumors, but Mi-Ja - you must know — that all thoughts I have had these past weeks have not been of faith or good deeds, they have all been of _you_.”

Mi-Ja’s mouth went dry and lightning rushed through her body. 

“I...you...please, _please_ grant me allowance to court you. I love you," he declared, with such gentle passion. 

She said nothing as he took her hand in his, holding it to his beating chest. The sensation of his touch was electrifying, igniting more energy and burn than anything ever had in her life.

“Your hand, it is trembling,” he observed quietly and she quickly wrenched her hand away. 

“Because you’re holding it!” she shrieked at him. The emotions wrought by this moment were overwhelming — to the extent that Mi-Ja had remained in a stupor while Yong brought her before Mother Sage, who did not seem all that surprised to see them together. 

Yong then asked Mother Sage her for guidance, explaining his side to things and how, for the past three weeks, his focus had been consumed by Mi-Ja. 

“We will need to be certain, but the signs are there. Agni has connected you - you have a bond that goes deeper than courtship or marriage, you two have a soul bond,” Mother Sage enthuses, her eyes alight with great awe. “It is a rare and sacred thing.” 

“It cannot be,” Mi-Ja counters, then points at him, “Because I hate him.” 

But it was. And she did not. 

The tugs of the bond could not keep her from him and in due time, they were sharing chaste kisses in the secrecy of moonlight. Soon, they arranged their marriage. In a quick and secret ceremony, Mother Sage herself officiated their union and sent them to a priory further into the colonies, to keep whispers at bay. 

There, as they dedicated themselves to serving and ministering - trying to abate the horrors of their own people against the land, they found a simple sort of happiness among the villages of the Earth Kingdom. Then, from that simple happiness came greater joy - in the form of a daughter, proof and evidence of their bond. 

They named her “Sun,” an Earth Kingdom name meaning mission and truth, in homage to their motherland and its celestial fire, the disciplines that brought them together, and the new home where they were content to live in for the whole of their lives. 

Until her father took that from her too. 

Her brother, Mi-Jun, had married a girl of tenuous peerage “out of love,” but early on, it was discovered that she was barren. The family procured a concubine, but she did not produce an heir, either. Five years passed before a doctor confirmed the worst - that Mi-Jun could not produce children. 

Mi-Ja’s father would not even think of allowing Mi-Jun to adopt, to bring in a stranger with none of their blood to carry on his house and title. He believed in maintaining the purity of their line, so sent off men to uncover Mi-Ja and retrieve her so that she might produce an heir with someone of his choosing. 

But when he learned of Sun, he softened — to the shock of all. The head of the house, breaker of bones and screamer of sins, broke his usual countenance and poured gentle loving onto his one and only grandchild. 

He had a granddaughter and heir. 

Quickly, he made arrangements for Sun to be adopted by Mi-Jun and quietly disowned Mi-Ja. Through his connections with the city governor, his wishes soon became law and Mi-Ja could do nothing — as she wept and swore — while her father and brother took her only daughter. 

So she repaid in kind. 

Using her own connections, she procured a place for Yong within the ranks of the Imperial Fire Sages and finally submitted her application to be placed in the Fireguard. 

From within the walls of the palace, she could secure the safety of her beloved, keep a close eye on her good-sister’s machinations, and wait for the right moment to take her daughter back. 

And that moment arrived, for now that Prince Lu Ten has come of age, he was expected to choose a consort. And Mi-Ja knew that if men can use women to take things, then she could use a man to take back her daughter. 

## ⧍⧍⧍

By the year of the selection of the princess consort, Mi-Ja acquires the rank and title of the Captain of the Fireguard, and therefore must devote herself and her services to the Crown Prince and his family. But with Iroh acting as general over the armies in the Earth Kingdom, Mi-Ja primarily occupies her hours guarding and protecting Lu Ten. As he is the only heir of the Crown Prince, the threat of assassination hovers over him like a swarm of gnats - constant and frustrating. 

Her tenure with him is invigorating, to say the least — with attempts on his life occurring every few weeks. Especially with the impending excitement of the Candidacy of Consorts taking hold of the Inner Pavilion, Mi-Ja takes to her duties with due gravity. 

But her times alone with Prince Lu Ten also hold quiet moments. She learns early on that Lu Ten takes after his father in his manners and courtesies, but his mind favors his late mother’s. 

Mi-Ja only met the late Royal Princess Consort once before her passing and found a kindred spirit of wit and inner strength, but only being a lowly foot soldier at the time, she could not further any sort of relationship. 

Yet, Lu Ten nearly becomes her son in everything but name and blood. He prefers her company over all else in the Privy Council and has her by his side through all things. He trusts her, confides in her, and she gives him whatever wisdom his father cannot. 

He craves companionship, Mi-Ja observes. In a Palace of no equal, Lu Ten desires a friend. 

But the Candidacy will only give him a wife. 

The selection process is brutal and unforgiving - without the right connections and substantial offers, a girl could not even make it passed the preliminaries. Ladies of noble lineage, cousins of the Kasai, daughters of the rising nouveau-riche, and beautiful peasant maidens made up a long list of hundreds. 

But Mi-Ja’s daughter had advantages other applicants did not - an _in_ and great beauty. 

Sun’s beauty honestly surprised Mi-Ja since Sun took after Yong in her looks; and Mi-Ja never considered her husband incredibly handsome. In fact, quite the opposite. She loved her husband, her other half, her soul mate — she never thought him to be handsome.

But Yong’s features in the frame of their daughter was, fundamentally, appealing. 

Then again, she might just be a pliant mother biased towards her own daughter. Yet, she would receive news from her own mother that several men of great standing had approached them to court Sun, on account of her delicate features and her quick wit. 

Furthermore, through her occasional visits to the Chui manor, Mi-Ja observed the figure of her daughter — voluptuous and shapely, with a dance in her hips. Mi-Ja had no doubt that Sun would be fertile. 

With these factors, Sun is able to pass the preliminaries, beating a thousand applicants, and was given the invitation to enter the Interior. 

Soon, the Pavilion bustles with activity as 77 young girls from every district and village of the Fire Nation gather to prepare themselves. 

First, the girls are separated into seven groupings of eleven, led by seven eunuchs that would teach them to master the skills necessary for any consort — concubine or queen. Over the course of 180 days, the girls undergo beauty treatments and lessons in music, poetry and calligraphy, oration and conversation, dance, and comportment. Every action, every tilt of the head, and blink of the eye is controlled, documented, then perfected to be worthy of the royal gaze. 

With the passing of every fifteen days, a girl is sent home until fourteen remain. Those fourteen would then be in the service of the Imperial Queen, then the prince would judge their portraits and finally, seven would be chosen to be Candidates. 

But then the Imperial Queen Iylah passes. 

The palace shifts into mourning and preparations are stopped. 

With the passing of the greatest manipulator of the court, a vacuum of control opened the floodgates for those scuttling behind the palace walls. 

The women inside the Pavilion and the men outside in the War Halls all debase themselves in the same way, with gossip and petty designs, devolving into more and more factions. 

Mi-Ja had seen this in the temples and abbeys too — though all should serve the Firelord and the Spirits, men cheapen their characters for the sake of imagined power. 

Now, that chance for power relies on a singular female no one paid attention to — Princess Consort Ursa. 

As the sole remaining and living consort, Ursa now has the chance to oversee the candidacy of her nephew’s consorts. The precedent had been set prior, generations ago, when a Queen Consort had passed before a Candidate could be chosen and role had fallen to another woman of the court. But the current court would not even think to consider Princess Ursa, a low-born base woman who only got her place because she is descended from Avatar Roku. 

In fact, after the initial stage of mourning ends, Chamberlain Hari — the eunuch in charge of the Pavilion in its entirety, another member of the Privy Council, aide to the Imperial Queen now passed, and a complete egotistic lummox — announces that the late stage of examinations will be completed by himself. 

But Mi-Ja knows better than to trust the future of any consort in the hands of the opportunistic and sycophantic goose-rat. She also knows that of all the candidates, Princess Ursa knows Sun the best. 

Her daughter always had a penchant and gift with children, another thing that endeared her to her suitors, and a gift that yielded an opportunity. During boring Candidacy lessons, Sun would sneak out and explore the palace, dressed as a maid. One such venture brought her before the Princess Consort and her children. 

Princess Azula was six at the time, playing by herself in the gardens. She saw Sun crossing through and ordered her to play with her. So Sun taught her a game popular with the boys in the city, in which they would hop around on one leg like a limping komodo chicken, then after ten jumps, must topple their opponent. 

Princess Consort Ursa then arrived, with her son, wondering what had kept her daughter to then see the girl engaging in horseplay. But the princess obviously delighted in such physical sport, eager to topple the young maid to the ground. 

Ursa then bade Sun to introduce herself and as lying to a member of the royal family is punishable by death, Sun revealed her true identity as an applicant for the candidacy. 

Shocked and grateful that someone could entertain the princess Azula without any destruction of persons or grounds, Ursa entreats the Chamberlain. 

Hari dislikes Sun, Mi-Ja knew this from his constant prattle and open disdain towards any girl with a sharp tongue; but the eunuch would rather slit his own throat than bestow the low-born princess any courtesy, or give Sun the chance to remain in the palace and have access to influence that could counter his. 

So Ursa submitted to her husband to ask for Sun to be taken in as one of her maids instead of being a candidate. 

Mi-Ja discerned, early on, that the second prince, Prince Ozai, actually adored his wife. Indeed, his cold manner might suggest otherwise to the extent that most of the court believed Ozai to simply tolerate his consort. But Mi-Ja saw and knew. 

She saw the way he never seemed to favor any one concubine and while his words to her were wintry, he would bend his will for Ursa’s favor. 

The consort lived through suffering, yes, but also imagined adversity, Mi-Ja concluded, and was unaware of the fortune she truly had. Or was just too weak to seize it for herself. 

But most of the royal family are. 

Insistent that the girl be available to Azula, Ursa compels Prince Ozai to intercede so if Sun would finish the process and was not chosen as a candidate, then she could be taken in by Ursa. 

But now, Sun had a chance. 

Mi-Ja procured an audience with the Princess Consort and revealed that Sun was actually her daughter. Then proceeded to inform her that if Sun were chosen as a concubine, then her place as Azula’s playmate would still be secured but that Sun’s candidacy would be the perfect revenge against the courtiers who had made her own life as the Princess Consort so difficult. Then she appealed to Ursa’s compassion, saying that she could finally be a mother to her daughter and could not truly do so unless she were under the roof of Iroh’s line. 

All she needed to do was act the role already given to her. 

The following day, Ursa informs the court that she will undertake the role of Elector for the final stage. While the other girls swept the floors, made tea, and wrote poems, Sun would take Azula out into the fields with two of the fireguards and shoot arrows in the air for Azula to send down in flames. 

Of the initial fourteen, Ursa selects eleven to have their portraits made and presented to Lu Ten. Of these, he will choose seven for the final selection. But, out of obligation to his family and the court, the final seven will include Lady Kaur of the Ayota House, the Hono favorite; and Lady Lin from the Ru’en clan, the Hina favorite — the only two that mattered. 

Kaur had singularly won the favor of nearly everyone in the Interior - from the Chamberlain to most of the maids. Her smile was ready but purposeful, only shown to those who could talk favorably of her. She would be known hence as Candidate Mihono — _beautiful flame —_ for this stage requires that all Candidates take on a regal name, indicative of their status and rank. 

Lady Lin had the greatest connections and was the most haughty in her demeanor, as she had been used to a profligate lifestyle. She will be Candidate Hiname, _the princess of the sun_.

While both had patrician grace and conduct, as well as beauty to some degree, Sun, as Candidate Tsukihi — _the moon and sun —_ outshines them. 

At least, Mi-Ja believes so. 

But she takes care to hold her tongue around Lu Ten, concerning her daughter, since others constantly attack him with praises of the other candidates. 

Mi-Ja is present when he is given the portraits, however. And to her surprise, he sends his attendants out of the room, apart from her. 

He takes stock of all the portraits laid out before him, the two favored candidates at the forefront. 

“You take special note of this girl, captain?” Lu Ten suddenly asks, pulling her from her unintentional focus upon the portrait of her daughter. 

“I…” she stutters. 

“Is this one your daughter?” he inquires with blithe intrigue. 

She blinks. “My prince, I cannot-” she begins, startled by his knowledge. 

“Worry not, captain. I can see that she greatly resembles Sage Yong and I know that you were married prior your tenure here. She also looks nothing like Lord Chui.” 

Mi-Ja bows her head. “My liege, she is my daughter by birth, but my niece by law. While I did submit her name, I know better than to try to persuade your favor. Please allow me to leave the room so that you can make your selection in peace.” 

“Nonsense, she is quite pretty-” then he laughs, his full-belly laugh brimming with soul and life - inherited from his father. “Who would have thought that Sage Yong could make such a lovely young woman.” 

Mi-Ja smiles as Lu-Ten regards the portrait. “I don’t want to choose someone because she would be a political footstool for others,” Lu Ten says softly. “So many old and decrepit men sit in positions of power. Choosing the daughter of a respected sage and an even more-respected captain of the guard could pose a solution.” 

“My prince,” she begins, somewhat in a chiding way, “You must choose the best candidate to help you lead your empire into glory.” 

“But what is glory to peace?” Lu Ten asks, though not to her. “A queen to a real wife and mother, full of affection?”

So Mi-Ja pools her thoughts and affections to focus on this young boy, who has so much and yet who had so much taken from him. 

## ⧍⧍⧍

Like the manicured gardens, the factions of the palace kneel in their proper places in strict and strident rows. The Hina Ministers in their red and gold robes. The Hono in their red and black. 

These two coteries lining the long stretch of the presentation hall. At the end, upon the elevated stage, Prince Lu Ten sits in the middle, his father sitting at his right. The Firelord, their Emperor and liege, was too ill to participate. Mi-Ja, as a member of the Privy Council, sits to the right, just below the stage. 

For the seven anchors of Fire Sage philosophy, the seven candidates whose portraits were chosen will be presented to the prince. But only two are especially considered. Mihono and Hiname. 

They are to bookend the presentations, so that they might appear especially grand and enticing to Prince Lu Ten. 

Mi-Ja knows there is no hope for Sun to be his consort. Her position, being the daughter of the fireguard captain, is an honored and noble foundation, but not aristocratic enough. She would not have enough noble blood to be of anything worthy in the court of the future Firelord. 

Skirts of silk shuffle across the lacquered floors of the presentation hall, the maids stepping aside to make way. The sound of a gong, the doors open to reveal Candidate Mihono in sumptuous red with detailing in black. 

She makes her first seven steps, before discarding her outer robe, then exhibiting a beautiful frock of magnificent artistry and trimmings fit for a royal bride. The skirt is a deep wine red covered in flowers of every color that shimmer in the light with every step. Her sleeves are adorned with glistening black thread, in the shape of gingko leaves, the prince’s favorite floral pattern. Her hair is adorned with ornaments of black jade and silver, and three signet rings of valuable gemstones decorate her minuscule hands. It is obvious that the Hono spent every expense and thensome for her garb. With the late Queen’s passing, Mihono would be their last chance in having a footstool in the royal line. 

She reaches the stage and curtsies with grace, then proceeds to present herself, along with her titles, lineage, and sponsors. 

Prince Lu Ten greets her accordingly, then she demonstrates her talents — her particular skill is in oration and language, so she kneels before them all and recites the tenets of the Great Sage Koshi Isha. 

“The teachings of Koshi Isha are very highly regarded,” the prince remarks, in a courtly manner when she finishes. “I have studied them quite thoroughly in the past year.” 

“Truly, my liege? I had not known,” Mihono states, as if she had not been given that information months prior. “His teachings are my favorite. I hope my reading pleased you.”

The prince smiles, then states, “It might have.” 

Irritation flashes over her, but only in a slight wince of her eyes. 

“If I had not recently discovered that his teachings were inherently fallible,” Lu Ten comments with an untroubled smile. “ _And,_ I have a theory that he must have had a bad experience with a woman. Some poor girl probably broke his heart,” he japes with a wave of his hand. “With all his tenets about the female sex needing to be possessions of their husbands, he must have been something spiteful. It’s all very demoralizing.” His eyes laugh and his tone is flippant. “I would think anyone who followed his teachings would make for a miserable spouse, no?” 

The men of the Hono faction eye each other in aggravation, and Mihono forces a smile. “How wise you are, my liege,” she mutters with soft deference. “To discover and see such flaws. Indeed, as the great philosopher Gou once said, all partnerships must be based upon a balance of virtue and quality. If one is lower than the other, a true partnership will not exist.” 

Lu Ten pulls his lips into a flat and humored smile. “How skilled you are in deflecting and flattery, Candidate Mihono. You have demonstrated that quite well.” 

He then gestures her aside. 

The rest of the hour proceeds as such: with the candidate walking in with extravagant carmine robes, presenting her titles, wares, then talents — all carefully catered to please him, which the prince then uses a few pointed comments to unearth and unravel the orchestration behind each choice. 

Mi-Ja cannot help but smile because Lu Ten looks absolutely bored. Yawning, nodding, rolling his eyes, the boy knows the sort of game he is entering and he will not play by their rules. 

Then, her daughter marches through the doors, and all breathing stops. 

The hall is silent bar the sound of the footfalls of her clothed soles. Nervous eyes glance to and fro, so many in tense anxiety. 

For in a chamber full of scarlet and crimson in dedication to the great kingdom of fire and flame, Sun walks down the chamber in a simple frock as white and silver as the moon. In Earth Nation style, no less. 

Her walk is deliberate and full of power, none of the grace or reticence the other candidates had shown. Her hair is laid into a tight braid that trails down her back, no decoration within her tresses barring the thin silver ribbon tying the braid. 

When she nearly reaches the stage, Chamberlain Hari shrieks, “You bring death,” standing and shaking with aggravation. “How dare you curse this chamber with the ill omens of your garb. I have had enough of your insolence, girl, leave at once.” 

Like the smooth descent of a fox-heron into shallow waters, Sun lowers herself into genuflect and lowers her head into her upright knee. “My lord, and my liege, this lowly servant only seeks to bring about remembrance.”

Before the eunuch shrieks again, Prince Lu Ten raises his hand to speak. He leans over to an attendant to ask for her name and title, then asks her, “What do you mean, Candidate Tsukihi?” 

With her head still bowed, but her words as distinct as the noon bell, she pronounces, “My liege, this auspicious moment is only thirty-three days after the passing of the empress, and only ten days following the anniversary of the passing of the Royal Princess Consort.” She pauses slightly. “Of your dear mother, my liege. Though she was never queen, mourning her should not end on account of these few hours.” 

“And why would you do such a thing?” the prince asks in genuine curiosity. 

“I only sought to honor their memory with my garments and its stitching, for it details the story of the Kasai dynasty.” She extends her arm out to showcase her meaning, and though the prince has to squint, scrutiny does present the intricate stitching of her garb in shapes of celestial twins Zagi and Zami descending as beautiful dragons to breathe life into the ancestors of the Kasai, bearing the crest of Kamui Fuchi — the goddess of the hearth. “I sought to bring you and your family tribute during this time, my liege. Tribute to all the women who came before us.”

 _There_. That is the reason. 

Mi-Ja notes, stunned, to see her own stubbornness and loud sense of justice so rampant in her own daughter. In her own way, the girl wants to offend and affront all the men in the room, to have them tremble in fear before the color of death, and be in awe of a garb and stitching that speaks to the greatness of the female of their race. 

The ones who stand by the fires of the home to ensure that they burn. 

“What do you seek to prove with this charade, fellow candidate?” Mihono suddenly voices, her tone light yet deeply accusatory. “That you are not above using the passing of the late Empress Consort to ingratiate yourself?” The other candidate gasps in forged shock. “I did not think you were capable of such ill comportment.” 

Silence takes a few steps before Sun lifts her gaze to look straight at the prince. “If I may, my liege, I did not realize that my actions could be inferred as such. Though it was my initial intention to withdraw from the selection entirely before the ceremony even began, I must beseech you that if I have offended you, my liege, and your honorable father with my state of dress, then punish this lowly servant at once.” 

At this juncture, Sun shuffles so that both her knees touch the floor then she raises her painted hands and sleeves to her forehead before setting herself down to the floor in the lowest and most respectful reverence. “Punish your servant with death, my liege,” she mutters into the mats. 

Then she lifts her head and Mi-Ja sees the little mischief that plays too often in her daughter's eyes. “I am dressed for it,” she then jests, though her tone is austere. 

Mi-Ja steadies herself from dashing over and hitting Sun over the head herself. 

“You impudent bitch,” the eunuch begins, his voice high and pitched in his feeling affronted. Now, Mi-Ja prevents herself from stabbing the eunuch in the gut. “You waltz in here, wearing the color of Death, abuse the state of mourning of your prince and liege and now you dare—”

“Chamberlain Hari,” Crown Prince Iroh proclaims over him with booming authority. The room settles into unease again as the Dragon of the West presents the eunuch with his most political smile. “I would appreciate if you did not speak again.” 

Iroh then turns to Sun and his face is a practiced blank. 

“Arise, my dear,” he tells her. “I cannot speak for my son but I do appreciate your gesture and your... _wit_.” For all the man’s supposed sweetness, he knows how to choose his words. “And I must say that my curiosity is piqued by your garb. Pray, come closer so that I might see it more clearly since my aged eyes do not see as well as they had before.” 

She approaches the dais, slowly, then bows again when she reaches the foot of the stage before extending her sleeve towards the Crown Prince, being careful to stay off the elevated level as it is forbidden to everyone except the royal family. 

“From afar, it looks so simple and so betrays the incredible care and intricacy in these stitches. How fascinating,” Iroh enthuses as he takes the silk into his hands. 

“Thank you, your grace,” Sun mutters softly when Iroh relinquishes her sleeve. “The seamstress, Lady Yu-mee, is an artisan. She toiled endlessly over this, and over a tapestry that I commissioned of her with the same design. Which I had hoped to present to you as a gift last week, your grace. But it is still being completed.” 

Iroh does not respond except for taking away his gaze from the garment to glance over her features. 

Mi-Ja notes the turn of mood, especially as the prince’s expression shifts from curiosity to something akin to gratitude. 

The ministers closest to her regard the dress with increasing satisfaction. 

“Are your nails dyed, candidate?” Lu Ten suddenly asks, leaning in to peer over her hand. “It seemed so when you entered but now that I can see it clearly, it is.” 

“Yes, they are, my liege.” She displays her red fingers. “They are dyed with balsam. Girls in the countryside dye them when the balsam flowers are in bloom at the height of spring, to celebrate the new season.” 

Lu Ten nods, not bothering to hide how intrigued he is, and says, “I see. You may return to your presentation.” 

Her features falter. “I...I am allowed to continue, my liege?’ 

“Yes, of course,” Lu Ten retorts, keeping himself from laughing. “You are still a candidate.” 

“I have nothing to present,” she admits with another bow of her head. 

Mi-Ja huffs, incredulous but not that surprised by her daughter’s procrastination. Her husband suffers from the affliction too.

Lu Ten guffaws, his head thrown back and his laughter filling every inch of the air. “How is that, milady? That you had nothing prepared for the greatest day of your life?” 

“I did not dream that I would make it this far, my liege,” she mutters back, then quips, “Though the greatest day of my life would be the day I could wed you.” 

“Then why not prepare?” the prince cites, coyly and evidently thrilled. 

“I did not think myself to be worthy of being your consort.” Tsukihi smiles, sharing in the conspiracy of his eyes and tone. “However, I do hail from the Earth Kingdom.” 

Lu Ten tilts his head to show the question. Iroh then asks, “And how does that present you as a viable candidate for my son, Lady Tsukihi?” 

She shifts her sights to meet his. “Since it means that I know the culture and workings of Ba Sing Se as well as I know my own person.” 

There is scarcely a moment for others in the room to recognize the weight of her words. Even Mi-Ja is astonished by the statement and the implication. How had her daughter known of the Imperial Army’s movement towards Ba Sing Se? 

Lu Ten smiles, his gaze colliding hers with spirit and cooperative collusion. Then, in a solitary and striking syllable, he announces, “You.”

“What?” the eunuch stutters loudly, nearly shrieking, though too stunned to utter any other word. 

“I choose you,” the prince states, the grin on his face turning soft and full.

The other members of the privy council jostle and scramble to make their opposing opinions known to the young prince. 

“Is there an issue, my lords?” Lu Ten asks, a hefty ounce of rebellion in his tone that reminds Mi-Ja of his mother. 

The chamberlain bows face-flat before him. “Prince Lu Ten, customs dictate that only the first and seventh candidates are truly suitable to be your consort. Candidate Tsukihi—”

“—is my choice,” the prince overstates. “Customs aside. My father chose my mother, as did my grandfather, your emperor and _king_ , from women of noble birth and sharp minds. Candidate Tsukihi is no different. So she is my choice. I declare that Candidate Tsukihi shall be my consort.” The prince stands and the ministers all rise and bow at sharp angles in due response. “Now we can end this farce,” he decides. 

Of course, there is outrage and attempts to persuade the prince but when Mi-Ja catches the look of conspiracy shared between her daughter and the young prince, she knows something new has begun. 

* * *

Readily, she stands, watching, with hidden pride, as her daughter takes away from the men who only took.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay for world-building  
> This chapter was my favorite to write, and is really an exploration of how I feel like the FN would really be - a sumptuous and stifling combination of Chinese, Japanese, and Thai/Indian culture.  
> Hope you enjoyed the character of Mi-Ja! And who isn't a sucker for soulmates? ahahaha


	3. The Concubine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: A little F/F here because it's me and if that bothers you please do not read. 
> 
> Also, this chapter features Zuko a bit more as well as his exile

# The Concubine 

# {Sun}

△

_Like fragrant ashes_

_Is the curse, blessing, duty_

_Of love and beauty_

▽

Ash falls like snow. 

Something pretty to smell and pretty to see even though both augur death. 

Sun has seen snow only once, when she traveled through the mountains as a child in the Earth Kingdom. The memory might be her happiest - the chill of the ice on her hands, the crisp air biting at her cheeks, the pristine field as white as cotton waiting to be ruined by her little boots. 

She has seen and smelled ash her whole life.

All the temples and homes she has lived in smell of ash and fire - from the ceremonial censers - koro and kodo, the candles in the sacristies, the incense for rites. 

She always preferred snow; she craves its chill to this day. 

Because the blistering heat of the Palace is suffocating, like a blanket of humidity and expectations that smother everything. 

She can barely breathe. 

The only times she can feel some relief are when she is alone with her father. 

When she slips away from the Pavilion and into the halls of the Imperial Fire Sages, she will make her way to his quarters, and lay her head on his lap while he makes horrible jokes and peels lychees while he rambles about a small moment from their time across the seas and the happy memories they made there.

But then he tells her to pray more, and she can breathe no more. 

* * *

The only times she can _live_ are when she is alone with Ursa. 

Sun knows she becomes bold with her friendship with the Princess Consort. Their friendship is uncommon and inappropriate in the eyes of many. But their miseries bind them together and Sun can only breathe in her presence. Everywhere else, she is Tsukihi, the prince’s favored concubine, even with her own mother. 

She is only herself with Ursa. 

She does not become Princess Consort, that title still falls to Candidate Mihono. But Sun doesn’t really care about that since Prince Lu Ten openly and loudly prefers his concubine over his consort and wife. He whispers love and adoration into her back, into her neck, while his hands slither to cup her breasts; he whispers sweet promises that when he becomes Firelord, she will be his queen. 

She does not want to be queen, but the temptation of victory over Mihono is too sweet to pass. Also, Candidate Hiname did not even present herself to the prince - so that was victory enough for Sun. 

Sun, as O-Tsukihi, was given her own quarters within the Secondary Chambers of the Pavilion; and for every night the young prince spent with his Princess Mihono - his consort and wife, he would spend the other six with O-Tsukihi. 

It surprised few that she had already given him heirs within ten months of her rise to the title and role of Royal Concubine. 

Twins - Izagi and Izami, named after the twins of lore, children of the great Sun Goddess Amati, and the bearers of Agni himself. The Fire Sages see this as an auspicious sign that Azulon’s line will be prosperous, and the Hina faction see it as evidence that their hold over court will continue. 

Sun hates the palace politics, and hates having to be a part of it. She hates that Mihono will scream at her in front of the handmaidens, but she must still refer to the banshee as “Lady Consort”. She hates that the ministers gawk and whisper when she passes, especially when she was full with her children. She hates that custom dictates that her own mother must stand guard over Mihono and not over her.

She hates that she and her children are pawns in this stupid game. 

Thankfully, as she is only a concubine of the son of the crown prince, her children can be touted as political tools but not truly until Azulon passes. Though the Firelord battles off senescence, he seems to be winning the war against age for now. His mind is still sharp, his edicts still absolute, his reign still as brutal as the hottest flame. 

Lu Ten is also young, not yet eighteen when the twins are born, and the Hono ministers still hope that Mihono can beget a “true” heir before Iroh ascends the throne. 

Sun can keep her children close to her, for now. 

She feeds them from her own breasts, covers them with kisses and love, coos over them, sings to them. They are her children and she will see to it that all know it. 

But the forces within the walls of the Pavilion constantly seek to tear them away from her. 

When Lu Ten joins his father at the siege of Ba Sing Se, there are whispers of Mihono strategizing to adopt Izagi by force, which infuriates Sun all the more since the bitch dares consider her son as more “valuable” than her daughter. 

She writes to Lu Ten immediately and he sends an edict to the court, to Azulon himself, through messenger hawk, establishing that - until his return - the twins remain in the custody of their birth mother. 

The Firelord allows it, but not without costs. 

Sage Yong is demoted within the ranks and Lord Chui is made to relinquish his claim to Sun and the twins, which Sun is thankful for - to be rid of her woeful demonic aunt, though she knows it saddens her ailing grandfather. 

Her first years in the Pavilion are torturous, barring a few joys. 

One being Ursa. 

Especially when their legs are tangled together beneath the crimson sheets. Though, in the moonlight, everything is grey and shadow, to keep their secrets and encourage forgetting about the world outside of them. 

Lu Ten is off at the front and no one cares for the existence of the concubine, and Sun relishes the slight degree of freedom as much as she revels in Ursa’s touch. 

“I love you,” Sun whispers. “Only you.” 

“That cannot be true,” Ursa breathes back, gasping as Sun kisses down her legs. 

“But it is,” Sun mutters into her smooth sumptuous skin and into her sex. “You are the only thing that gives me any joy, Ursa, I love you.” 

The princess does not reply and Sun knows why. She knows that Ursa left behind part of her heart somewhere in the past and the rest is given to Zuko and Azula. Ursa can give up no more. 

But Sun knows herself and is unafraid of her truth. 

She is fond of Lu Ten, admires him. She esteems him, surely. But she does not love him - for all his charm and humor and integrity, or for the children she bore for him. 

She adores her children. She loves her mother. She loves her father. 

She loves her grandfather and grandmother. 

She loves the cook’s little boy with burns on his arms who smiles whenever she slips him sweets. 

But Ursa - her beauty, her voice, her humility, her hair, her scent, her flaws, her quiet sighs - _everything_ incites so much more affection in Sun than anyone else and so she believes it to be love, that gripping and vehement love poets spend centuries writing of. 

So Sun thinks of that, only of those emotions and that sense of fulfillment, as her lips eagerly labor to bring Ursa to completion. 

As a concubine, her industry is sex and love. 

She should not be judged for fulfilling her duty with the one she truly loves. 

* * *

But then, news of Lu Ten’s death comes and her duty becomes one deeply intimate with tribulation. And her loves are stripped from her. 

## ⧍⧍⧍

The Hono start their campaign, like banthers rampaging down the hills to rip flesh from the bodies of swine, using incline and opportunity to their advantage. 

Mihono herself has always kept her stratagems focused on General Iroh and Firelord Azulon, pleasing both sides of the great internal conflict, playing the part of the Hono representative and the Hina mole. In this time of mourning, she remains untouchable. As the widowed consort, her wailing and showy grief gives her so much power. So despite everything Sun tried to gain an audience with the Firelord, she is rebuffed time and time again by Mihono’s entourage. 

“The Firelord is in mourning,” is the typical excuse.

But her mother tells her the truth. That Mihono schemes to eliminate Tsukihi. 

Yet she also discovers that Ozai schemes to eliminate Izagi, the one true threat to his claim for the throne. 

So Sun makes a decision. 

With carefully given bribes, she learns that Ozai has requested an audience with the Firelord and it does not take a genius to know what he will ask for during that time. Ozai has always wanted the throne and all the Hono ministers have told him it belongs to him and to Hono blood. As soon as Lu Ten’s death was confirmed, they have been bowing down in the war chambers, shouting out to their great and mighty Firelord that he might favor Ozai for succession.

So the night prior to when Ozai will present his living children - though singularly Azula, most likely - to Azulon as heirs, and through the secret entrance that she uses to slip into Ursa’s rooms, Sun makes her way into Ozai’s apartment. 

He does not seem surprised to see her. 

“I know you will try to kill my son,” Sun takes on the conduct of O-Tsukihi, the one who has extended Azulon’s line, in her manner and tone. 

Ozai says nothing as he strips his outer robe. 

“Your brother is too old to bear another child and my son is too young to sit the throne as Firelord. But when you kill him, the whole court will know it was you and the Hono.” 

She sees in his eyes, the faint glimmer of disbelief and intrigue - because she said “when”. Though, it is obvious. He does not consider her a threat. “What is the point, Lady Tsukihi, of this subterfuge? If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to seduce me into keeping your son alive.”

“I’ll leave the subterfuge and the seduction to the widowed Princess Consort.” 

He does react to that, a glimpsing flinch, corroborating Mi-Ja’s suspicions that while they hail from the same faction, Mihono and Ozai clashed in reality, fighting for power within the court and among their own throng of people. Sun makes note to relay this to her mother. 

Mihono is everyone’s enemy but her own. 

“Do you know of her designs, my liege?” Sun asks. 

“Only that she has been going to my father’s bedchambers every night since my mother’s passing,” he replies in casual derision, setting his robe on a divan. 

“Yes, she seeks to make herself the new queen, and to her, _you_ are her great obstacle. I have no doubt that the seeds she planted in Azulon’s ears have already rooted. I have always been a stepstool to her, but you are the great mountain she seeks to bow to her will.” 

His eyes meet her then, in waiting. 

She answers the pause. “And that does not worry you. For she is just wind and it merely fans your flames.” 

This response pleases him, she sees it in his eyes. But his features remain frigid and foreboding. 

“Izagi is three years old, barely old enough to form a sentence, let alone an edict. He cannot rule and I do not want him to ever have that burden,” Sun confesses. 

“What do you mean by this?” Ozai asks, now invested in what she has to say and offer.

“I do not want him to be Firelord. I believe Azula would make a fine queen, if reared well.” 

His reaction is slowed and deliberate, more testing than anything else. “I know not of what you speak.”

“The whole court knows you favor her while Ursa favors Zuko. If you take me and my children under your protection, I will support your claim to the throne - both yours and hers. When the time comes.”

“You have no loyalties to my brother?” 

Her answer is immediate. “He is no king. Not now.” 

She means this. Though she knows it is cruel, but Iroh should have been the one to protect her, protect her children - his own grandchildren. She grieved for Lu Ten too, but she has a duty and she will fulfill it even if Iroh fails to rise to his. “He is a shell of a man and he cannot bring this kingdom into the next age while in this abject mourning.” 

Ozai is caught now, his attention fully fixed. “So what are you suggesting?” 

Though kneeling before him, her air, her confidence, and her gaze are level to his. “Take me as your concubine.” 

His astonishment is palpable but silent and it shudders the spirits in the room. 

“You know that I am friends with your wife, she will understand once I explain everything to her,” she quickly clarifies. “If I am taken under you, my children will be also, and they will come _after_ your children in the line of succession.”

“You will disappoint many Hina men with this course of action.”

“I do not care for the whims of cowards, who huddle in the palace while their men die in the fields of unknown lands. I am not Hina. But I am a mother. I have an obligation and duty to my children. And I will do everything in my power to make sure they live and prosper. And you know that I am fond of your children. I will do nothing to hinder their paths to the crown.” Her head bows neatly. “You have my word.” 

“This does not benefit me as well as you think it does,” he declares after a moment of contemplation. “The scandal alone of taking my nephew’s bride as mine would ruin my chances enough.” 

“You know the history of your ancestors - a precedent for such behavior was set before. The Emperor Zyan-no-Ryuu took the wife of his own son as a concubine. Their tale is still hailed as one of enduring love and sung in songs, lauded in poems.” 

Ozai scoffed. “Not the sort of reputation I seek for my legacy.” 

“Undoubtedly, my liege. However, without the custody of my children _and_ my support, you will never sit the throne. The crown will never be your legacy unless you have me by your side,” she speaks with clarity and truth. “I have thought of this. When you sit before your father tomorrow, let him claim my son as your heir and offer yourself as regent. Azulon will call in his ministers for their suggestions, because this is something Mihono will want, so that she can then claim Izagi as her own son and position herself as queen regent so that she might rule in his stead.”

“But you will make your claim in my favor,” Ozai finishes. “When my father passes, however, who is to say that you will keep your son on the throne and let me pass my days into oblivion as a mere advisor to a child? I have no leverage after his death.” 

Quickly, she retorts, “But my family does.” 

A nerve in his brow twitches in scrutiny. “Explain,” he demands.

“I am sure you know that Captain Mi-Ja and Sage Yong are my true parents. Lord Chui is my uncle but he adopted me to have an heir. Without me, my family line will die. The Chui house requires my children more than the throne. I would much rather have my son inherit the Chui name than the Kasai. He and my daughter will have lesser comforts, certainly, but I can rest more easily knowing they would be safe. Furthermore, the positions that the members of my family holds are key to how Azulon will choose his successor. A word from the sages, a preference of the Fireguard Captain - Prince Ozai, it would be foolish to squander the opportunity I present to you.” 

She ends with this, “Because, truly, you are the one without leverage. I will not try to appeal to your humanity but know that without me, Mihono will rule over you and she will choose someone else to be her heir and you will be left as a footnote in the annals of our history.”

That is his greatest fear, she knows this of him, and it is this fear that obliges him to oblige her. 

With this, Sun wins the battle, secures the lives of her children, ensures that she may be close to her loved ones, close to Ursa. 

But she should have known. 

She should have known better than to trust in a man so cold and calculating as Ozai. 

For all that she loved about snow. 

* * *

Night still owns the sky, though just barely, when the bells of mourning ring and clang. Sun rises from her bed, in a gasp, anxious and terrified of their meaning. She rushes to her children’s bedroom before her ladies can attend to her and disclose the reason for the bells. 

It would not be long, though, when she learns that Azulon has passed, that the funeral will take place in three days - according to custom, and that Prince Ozai will ascend as heir and Firelord, Emperor of the Fire Nation, King Regnant of all its peoples. 

In the sudden chaos, in the chilling air of daybreak, Sun tries to find Ursa, to tell her of her plan, to rejoice together in their sisterhood. 

She asks all the servants who rush past her, “Where is Princess Consort Ursa?” 

“Where is Ursa?” 

“Ursa?” 

Her name, _Ursa_ , lovely and full of love, falls off Sun’s lips with increasing worry. 

Sun does not find her. 

And that peace she felt in knowing that the wars of her political life were over disappeared completely. Fear spreads in her like a poison, like a drop of ink in water. 

“Where is she?” she overhears Prince Zuko once she enters the gardens of the Pavilion. His voice is soft and confused. 

She sees Ozai, in his mourning garb, standing still and silent over the pond - transfixed by its black and murky waters. He looks like a blank, and almost repentant. 

The boy bows his head in desolation. 

“No,” Sun whimpers as she approaches them. She is a void of disbelief. “You didn’t.” 

Ozai makes no effort in moving or explaining. 

“Where is she?” Zuko asks again, angry now. “Where is mom?” 

When the new Firelord gives no answer, it is Sun who shrieks, “Where is she?” The sudden hole in her soul is a gaping chasm of grief and dread. “Where is she? What have you done?” 

But she knows the answer and she falls to her knees. 

Her anguish numbs her into a being less than herself, a mere penumbra of what she is. A shadow of the sun. 

Zuko flees.

Suddenly, the bells stop ringing and attendants, handmaidens, and the members of the Privy Council suddenly flood the gardens and prostrate themselves before them. 

They all proclaim, “Long live the Firelord Ozai. Long live Firelady Tsukihi. May your reign be long and prosperous.” 

The Sun had hoped to end her misery, but that misery renewed for she is concubine no more. 

She is now Queen.

The most powerful woman in the nation.

But she still had to choose one love over the other. And is that not the great torment of a woman, to sacrifice and accommodate for everyone else’s benefit but hers. 

## ⧍⧍⧍

At certain times of the day, the Palace is as empty as her soul. 

Hated and loved ones alike no longer roam the halls, with the excuse of economizing, Ozai banishes most of the advisors and attendants of the Council of Lords. Only the War and Privy Councils remain to indulge in the profligacy of the palace. Her mother and father are removed from their posts and are given hefty severances for their service to the crown. 

Lady Mihono is gone, sent back to her family in the Southern isles, with no place in the court as the childless widow of a dead prince. Hari is sent out as well, his sycophantic ways would never appeal to the queen he most openly disdained when she was a girl. In fact, half of all ministers - both Hono and Hina - are ousted from court, along with nearly all the moral and upstanding Fire Sages who would argue against some of Ozai’s rulings. 

Ozai only keeps those he trusts, and he only trusts those who agree with him completely, regardless of their alignment. He also keeps her lonely, so that she might depend on him and only him. He does everything with purpose. 

Their coronation, once the period of mourning has lapsed, is thunderous and full of tension. The whole empire rejoices as they enter a new era under a new Emperor, but the Pavilion will never settle into peace. 

When she is crowned, O-Tsukihi is twenty-one summers old, eleven years younger than her husband, the Firelord. 

Her children know four summers and are reaching five. 

Prince Zuko nears twelve. Azula almost eleven. 

As Firelady and Queen, she is compelled to adopt them. For the years before this misery, the two called her cousin but now, due to Ozai’s machinations, they call her Queen. 

Zuko never calls her “mother”. 

Azula calls her “mother dearest” to vilify and jeer. But Sun knows the girl and can monitor and rear her in a way that Ursa never could. 

Sun would rather have Ursa here, though. 

Ursa should have been queen. 

Ursa should have been there. 

Ursa should been with her. 

She hears the gossip, hears that the people think her to be a power-hungry whore, who banished the lovely Ursa into oblivion and seduced Ozai into making her queen. 

Such prattle should not sting as much as it does. 

But she now knows the reason Ozai chose her. So that all murmurs of indiscretion would be placed on her person rather than on his, to reap the benefits of her connections, to support his final move closer to absolute power. 

He needs her, but to admit so is weakness. So he keeps her lonely. 

The loneliness of her position is paramount. Even her own mother provides her no comfort. In fact, when Sun bid her parents goodbye, Mi-Ja states that the gods have punished her justly for her unfaithfulness to the crown. 

Sun always knew her mother suspected her late night trysts with Ursa; and it is with judgment when the captain says, “You have wrought this penance upon yourself and you alone will bear it.” 

A fitting curse for the girl who only wanted to prevent her loneliness in the arms and bed of the woman she truly loved. 

But now, her children are her only reason and purpose in her life, like a tree maintained only so that it may bear fruit. 

All her children. 

Azula openly prefers her, even if the Queen Consort O-Tsukihi is more strict in her control. 

Zuko still blames her for Ursa’s absence, but before his throes of youth, he allows her liberties in her affection. Some days, he will even hug her. 

But for Zuko, all of his affection, all of his love, all of his heart - in a way not unlike his true mother - is solely devoted to and reserved for the twins. 

He adores them, plays with them, and they toddle after him like baby turtle-ducklings. He showers their crowns with kisses, indulges their whims, and sneaks them cinnamon toffees. 

He loves them and the gods saw fit to punish such love. 

* * *

It is the height of the winter season - though it is never truly cold in the Fire Nation, only that the heat of the day is low and comfortable. It is then that she finally gives Ozai what he wants from her: an heir. 

She is breeding stock, the malleable pet with connections and influence far greater than that of his first wife, and she has the rebellious spirit he loves to crush with his bare hands. 

But she still fights against him. Still snaps and snarls and bites. She is fire and rancor until the male heir is born. 

She miscarried once before, a fall from the stairs that suddenly appeared from a push of air. But those falls and scrapes no longer befell her for this pregnancy. But the babe ravaged her body in ways the twins did not. 

She grew fat, nauseous, and melancholy - hidden away deep within the Pavilion, guarded by maids and servants and nurses, unable to see the children who give her her only joy. 

Zuko paid a visit once, as was respectful, since Azula had been sent to the Royal Academy to begin her schooling. The belly of the Queen had swelled and the bruises on her arms darkened, and she sees a glimpse of his parentage roar within the young prince. 

“He will pay for this,” he growls as he examines her, his eyes full of anger and compassion, and Sun thinks that perhaps Ursa never left. 

A dark grey and blustering storm passes through the capital when Prince Sozai is born. But when she holds the babe to her breast, she whispers the name, "Sora". She thinks Sozai is a stupid name; but it is the omen of the storm that worries the Royal Fire Sages. 

But Ozai ignores the omens. The child is everything to him and suddenly, the other children in the Interior meant nothing more than obstacles blocking his way. 

And Firelord Ozai showed it. 

His calm violence would then batter over the twins and when Sun could not protect them, Zuko would. 

A month after Sozai is born and as her body heals, a great clamor wakes her from her rest. Staggering, she makes it to the solar of their family quarters and sees Zuko — brazen and bold — standing vigil between a weeping Izagi and the towering figure of the Firelord. 

A porcelain vase is shattered on the floor, its pieces scattered among them on the carpet - and fear grips her. She rushes to her son, kisses the red on his cheek, and cradles him to her chest as the small child whimpers his apologies. “Don’t let him hurt brother,” Izagi utters quietly - so earnestly, so quietly. 

“Tsukihi, bring your son here,” Ozai demands. She responds with hate in her gaze. 

He struck her boy. 

The son of a bitch. 

“Do not touch him,” Zuko interjects, sharp and unforgiving. 

“Stand aside,” Ozai seethes like a rat-viper. The man straightens with purpose, with bullying and violence as his weaponry. “He must be punished.” 

“It was a mistake," the prince returns with sudden power, with purpose of his own. "Why punish him for breaking a useless vase?” 

“Move aside, Prince Zuko, or you will know respect from my own hands.” 

“I know enough of what comes about from your two hands, father. I will not stand idly by and allow you to enact suffering on a child.”

“You are the child, you defiant cur,” Ozai rages as his hand rises in the air. “You will know respect and suffering will be your teacher.” 

“To strike a member of the royal family in the Pavilion is prohibited!” Zuko asserts, his confidence growing. “Even by you, _sire_ ,” the boy says the address with such disdain and vitriol. “If you want to show me anything, you should do it in an Agni Kai.” 

An eager smile spreads over Ozai’s lips. “If that is your wish, Prince Zuko.” The eagerness then turns to swelling arrogance. “For your treasonous rebellion against your Firelord and father, I challenge you to an Agni Kai.” 

“Prince Zuko, you do not—” Sun begins, fearful, _terrified_. 

But Zuko states, with all the confidence of his lineage and his honor, “I accept.” 

Her suspicions were proven true. 

Sozai means death for Zuko and Izagi. 

She cannot dissuade Zuko from the Agni Kai, but to withdraw would cause him more shame. So she prepares for the inevitable and has her most trusted attendants go through the motions of officially naming Izagi, heir of the Chui house. But her aunt is still hateful and spiteful, even more so now as the matriarch of the family who desires her own nieces and nephews to inherit the Chui name and riches. Still, who could go against the Firelady, Empress and Queen? 

Tsukihi would never let her aunt rear her son, and so begged her father, through urgent missives, to take Izagi to the Monastery of the Great Sages, in the great city of Gakuwon, where the Royal Academy for Girls also resides, so that he might be reared in faith and scholarship, as many other princes and lords have done. He will leave with Crown Princess Azula after she bears witness to the Agni Kai. 

“You might think this will protect him, but as long as Izami runs around, who knows what she will remind my father of,” Azula then says when she arrives and agrees to take Izagi with her to Gakuwon. “Or who.” 

Sun knows this too. Izagi takes after her in looks, but Izami looks more like Lu Ten than anyone else — even more than Iroh. Izagi is a threat to Ozai in claim, but Izami is a threat to him in appearance and spirit. 

But Sun has a plan for her daughter too, though this she keeps even closer to her heart. 

With Sozai secured as his heir, Firelord Ozai has no mercy for his mild-mannered firstborn. He enters the stage with the intent to rid the world of Zuko written in his physicality — his eyes, his stance, his hate. 

But it seems — on the day of the Agni Kai, at noon, as is custom — that Prince Zuko found his mettle and fire. His forms are calm and graceful, calculated and precise. His youth and agility have found mastery in forms that defy tradition. 

The prince does not fight for himself. 

But in the end, with a mighty and thunderous yawp, Ozai strikes Zuko in the face and the boy falls to the ground as he cries out in pain. The Firelord raises his hand once more to give the final blow when Sun and General Iroh leap from their places and stand between them, as the boy did for Izagi. 

“Stay your hand, my liege,” Tsukihi shouts with insistence and force, despite her fear of the flames across his hands. “He has fallen. It is finished.” 

“ _He_ is finished,” her husband spits, his hand lowering and taking to the area of his torso that was bruised by the battle. “Take him out of my sight. Prince Zuko is hereby banished!” 

And so it is. 

There is no time. 

Quickly, Sun sends Prince Zuko and the Royal Physician to her rooms for healing, then she tells her own attendants to gather his things, while General Iroh prepares a crew and a ship to take him from the heart of the empire. By the slightest inkling of night, they are ready for his departure, any hour longer would incur more of his father’s wrath. Then in the chaos of the prince’s withdrawal from the Palace, Queen Tsukihi smuggles her daughter and herself into the carriage that will take Zuko to the docks. 

“There is no recourse for my return?” Zuko asks her when Sun removes the first bandages to apply salves onto his wound once more. “The Council-?” he mutters. 

“Only if you find and slay the Avatar,” she responds, cradling his head in her lap as she works to relieve his pain. But the burn is heavy and deep, and she worries he will be blinded in this eye. 

Princess Izami sleeps on the other seat of the carriage, peaceful and unknowing of what came and what is to come. “This was folly, Prince Zuko. He could have killed you. He planned for this.” 

“I planned for this too.” 

Now her hands still. 

The prince’s eyes remain closed but she sees his mind wander forth into his future. “I have seen enough destruction by his hand,” he says. “Against you, against Izi, against his people. And soon, maybe even Ami. I could not risk it. I was going to stay quiet until I became of age and then try to force him to abdicate, if I had enough Councilors on my side.” These words flower from his lips like blossoms at the height of spring, so beautiful and full of hope. “But then I saw him hit Izi and I couldn’t wait.” 

Sun begins to weep. “Thank you,” is all she manages to say. 

“I didn’t do this for you,” he is quick to utter. 

“I know,” she whispers, drying her eyes with her ornate sleeves. 

Silence befalls them, a blanket of something that does not stifle her, but gives her new hope. It is of comfort, not repression. 

“But can you do one thing for me?” she finally asks, as she softly presses new bandages over his wound. Then her heart and soul heave as she whispers her deepest desire and her greatest misery. “Could you take Izami with you?” 

“What?” His good eye flies open and he winces at his own reaction. 

“Take Izami,” Sun repeats as repositions the last strip of cotton. “She will be far safer with you and her grandfather than here. Please Zuko, I know you despise me. I know you cannot stand the sight of me — but please, I know you love them. I know you care for them, that they were why you stood up to your father. I-I should have protected you. I should have—”

Her fingers gently hover over the bandages of his scar. 

“Take her and go to the town of Kohryeo in the Earth Kingdom colonies. There is an abbey there and ask for the Mother Sage, she has healers in her employ. Tell her that you knew my father and she will help you without fail. Then my mother will meet you there and assist you in your journey. She has already been informed.” 

He does not say anything for a long while. 

“I did hate you,” Zuko then confesses with certainty. “I thought I did. I thought you favored Azula over me, as everyone else. But - but I know better. I will take Ami and I will protect her. You have my word.” 

“Thank you,” Sun weeps. “Thank you.” 

They reach the dock where the small ship is ready to set sail. The crew all bow at her arrival and they are sworn, by her, to secrecy of who they will serve in the future. 

She provides General Iroh funds from her own personal coffers and that of the Chui family, and with documentation that might assist them if the ship should be claimed by someone other than the banished prince.

The queen kisses her daughter goodbye and tells her to listen to her grandfather, that she loves her more than the desert thirsts for water. Then she approaches Zuko and takes his hands in hers. “Zuko,” she starts, her heart heaving in guilt, gratitude, and the love she had for his mother. “My prince, I know you might never believe but I did love you. I did and I do. You are my son too, Zuko. And I love you.” 

She kisses his hands with the greatest affection, her hand gracing his good cheek, and embraces him one last time. He holds her to him for longer than she had anticipated and she feels him breathe in her warmth. 

“Goodbye, Cousin Sun,” he says. A title of goodwill. 

* * *

As she watches Zuko’s ship pass beyond the horizon, she whispers her farewells to all her children into the soft and gentle winds. 

The sun rises on this lonely day, she bids her attendants to follow her to the Fire Temple to pay homage to the Prince Lu Ten, now passed. This will be her excuse when she is questioned by her husband about her whereabouts. 

But it will be in truth. She will bow down before the altar lifted up for the father of her children. She will confess her wrongdoings and beg his forgiveness. She will ask him to watch over his children and over his cousin as they embark to end this legacy of ruin and destruction. 

As the incense burns, its fragrance lifts into the air in that wavering line of smoke, its ashes fluttering down into its dish. The scent of juniper fills her lungs and takes over her senses. 

With nothing and no one else to love, she is free to fight. She rises from her memorial, from her remorse, from her guilt and confession. 

Ashes fall. 

Sun rises. 


	4. The Child

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's some Zutara (and Aang!) in this chapter! Finally! lol but it's through the perspective of someone else which definitely colors how it looks. Thanks for reading!

# The Child 

# {Izami}

△

_The lonely creature_

_Can wait patiently, tucked wings_

_To fly above kings_

▽

Izami loved stories. 

The best stories were the ones that pulled her mind through great fables of merciful dragons, talking animals, and wise monks that flew in the sky; then brought her to sleep as her head laid on her mother’s lap. 

Mother did all the voices. 

Soon, though, it would be Grandfather’s voice - gentle and rumbling - that would spin tales of great gods and fated lovers. Her head would lie in the lap of her grandmother, her Mi-Mi, and she would listen until these other worlds floated her mind to slumber. 

Sometimes, Izami would forget what her mother’s voice sounded like. 

Sometimes, when Zuko was not busy, he would try, but his stories were never good. 

But he was the only one who would talk about her father with her, about his cousin Lu Ten. Grandfather Iroh could never finish when Izami would ask. 

Then Mi-Mi would take him away and suggest to her that she seek out her cousin. 

Zuko is her uncle in one sense, and her brother in another. Mi-Mi tried to explain it to her once, then said that she should simply call Zuko as one would call an older cousin. But it was instinct and habit to call him Brother. 

Izagi would always be her twin. But Zuko was her brother. 

She would dash down the halls of the small boat, weaving between the legs of the crewmen who called her “princess” with joy, and she would eagerly ask where she might find her prince. 

But Zuko would always be at the bow, looking over the seas with dark thoughts on his mind. This darkness would show in his stance, in his features, and she must save him from it with her light. 

She would call out and he would turn, see her and smile, and be saved. 

He returns the call with a laugh and “little imp” then lifts her onto his hip, bidding her to look out over the ocean with him. 

She is getting too old to be picked up, but she enjoys it when Zuko does it. Her head nestles into the crevice of his shoulder with perfect ease, in a way that compels her to believe that she will marry him one day. 

The winds are cooler this time and she asks him of it. 

“We are going South,” he tells her. 

“Why? I thought we were going North?” 

“The North has closed itself off. It does not want to help. I got the hawk yesterday.” 

Izami does not grasp the full meaning of his words but she understands enough. “Now what?” She drapes her arms about his neck and feels his warmth. 

“I will enlist the help of their Chief. Then I will find the Avatar.” 

Izami loved the story of the Avatar foremost. A legend of balance and beauty - of the avatar of Raava who could bend all four elements like a god. Then disappeared into forgotten memory and myth. 

“Will he be your friend?” she asks. 

“He will be my ally,” he answers. She imagines a tall old man with a beard and kind eyes, a staff in his hand as he stands next to her prince. 

“Will you bring him to father?” 

Zuko always stills at the mention of father. “I will bring him to my father,” is what he says after a pause. “But not because he asked. But because he deserves the justice of the spirits.” 

Izami spies some blue paint beneath his jaw. She rubs it off. 

“Will you come with me?” he asks. 

“I will go to the ends of the earth.” _For you_ , she does not need to say. 

* * *

He takes her with two other men, and Mi-Mi in a small landing vessel, a white flag fluttering in the chilling Southern winds. 

“I look for Chief Hakoda,” he says regally when he descends from the ship and is met by a group of Water Tribe warriors, covered in furs and blue war paint. 

The man in the middle steps forward. “What does a Fire Nation prince want with the chieftain of a dying tribe?” 

“What a general wants from his army,” Zuko returns, icier than any winter storm. “A warrior who will fight for his cause. But if all I find is a broken man from a broken home, then I will not waste your time or mine.”

Izami never likes when Zuko tries to talk like a prince. He sounds mean. If she ever talked like that, Mi-Mi would bonk her on the head. 

“And what cause is that?” the chief asks. 

“To bring an end to the tyranny of the Fire Lord.” 

* * *

When they tell stories of the Blue Spirit in the years to come, many will claim that this moment is when he is born. 

But Izami knows better. 

The hero is never born when he steps onto the stage. There is a tragedy that happens before. 

## ⧍⧍⧍

They are always on boats, so when they make camp at the abandoned Airbender Temple, Izami feels as though she is finally at a place she may call home. She is used to the aching and moaning metal of the vessels that took her to and fro. But the earth feels so strong and certain to her. 

The Temple, too, is a trove of wonders and new things. 

There are artifacts beneath layers of history and dust that are waiting for her to unearth them, waiting for her to unravel the stories they might tell of an age long past. 

Zuko and Mi-Mi had gone out to the mainland of the Earth Kingdom and returned with gifts. Ami and her grandfather were in the solar, practicing calligraphy when they arrived. 

It had only been a few days, but any time away from anyone she loves is torture. 

Also, calligraphy is the worst. It keeps her away from exploring the temple. 

Its tall and open edifices are not conducive for war meetings or large gatherings, so the air temple serves as a liaison base for Zuko, their family, and the Southern Water Tribe. Hidden away in the tall jutting spires of rock, the temple effectively hides them from the rest of the world. 

It is the only place Zuko will leave Izami without Mi-Mi or himself. 

The headquarters of the _Blue Rebellion_ , as they are called, lies at Tu Zin, an abandoned mining village hidden within the mountains of the southern edges of the Earth Kingdom and significantly further away from the Fire Nation and its colonial pursuits than Omashu is. 

Zuko travels there often, and will make a trip to Gaoling on the way back to bring some gifts to soften the blows of his absence. 

So Izami simply must wait. 

Zuko too, with the help of the ever-strange Sokka of the Southern Water Tribe, fashioned a funicular system that only few know how to operate and when it lands in the courtyard of the temple, a distinct bell sounds out to signal an arrival. 

As soon as she hears the bell, she abandons her attempt to write the character for “Dragon” and rushes out to greet him and Mi-Mi at the docking pad. 

This trip, he has bought her a scroll about a great library of the spirits and Mi-Mi had come back with a little whistle in the shape of an air bison. They know her tastes so well, Izami thinks gaily as she trills her approval of the gifts. 

Gaoling also receives messenger falcons. 

“Your grandfather wrote, and he is silly as always,” Mi-Mi explains to her when they all return to the solar and Grandfather quickly tricks Zuko into playing a game of Pai Sho, with a board suddenly set up while Izami was away greeting them. 

“But Grandfather is right here,” Ami points to him, who smiles innocently when Zuko makes his first move and quickly counters by setting his jasmine tile in the _Grass in the Wind_ formation. 

“She means your mother’s father,” Zuko clarifies, though his eyes are fixed on the board in frustration. “Uncle, if I move my Rose piece, you will surely use the Lily to trap me into Disharmony,” the prince grumbles. 

Grandfather only laughs as Mi-Mi shows her the letter her other grandfather wrote, explaining about how Izagi was doing in his studies and a few jokes at his expense. 

“Have I ever met other grandfather?” Ami asks Mi-Mi. 

At this, Mi-Mi grows a little quiet but then smiles and says, “Once, a long time ago at the palace.” 

Ami nods as a flood of memories of the Pavilion overwhelms her and tries to fashion a memory where she met with her grandpa with her mother in the gardens. It would be a nice and sweet memory, Ami hopes. 

“I’ll write a letter to Izi,” she proclaims. “Do you think he can send me books if I ask?” 

“I’m sure your brother and grandpa can manage something,” Mi-Mi says then helps her pull out parchment for the missive. 

The day passes in quiet and familiar peace, as Ami writes her letters to her faraway twin and grandfather, while the closer Grandfather cheats Zuko out of all of his cinnamon toffees. 

“You know there was a quake yesterday,” Ami says to Zuko when she finishes her letters. Zuko had given up on beating his uncle in a rematch and settled the evening by going over a pile of scrolls and missives. Mi-Mi went off to train and Grandfather danced to the kitchens to brew some tea and help with dinner. 

So Ami was alone with her prince and she eagerly sat beside him and linked her arms through his, just to be close to him. 

“Really?” Zuko asks, taken away from his preoccupation with a report. “You weren’t hurt?” 

“No, Grandfather and I hid pretty quickly under the table and it didn’t feel like an earthquake,” she reveals. “More like something was shaking the air.” 

Her prince glances at her then. “What do you mean by that?” 

She shrugs. “I don’t know but one of the guards outside said that she saw a pillar of light to the south. She thought maybe the spirit portal opened.” Then she realized her mistake. 

Zuko always gets so distracted when the South is concerned. 

His eyes narrow in thought as he thinks about the implications. “What did Uncle think? How come he didn’t say anything?” 

“Grandfather already sent some people there. And he said he would tell you after you've rested. You know how you get,” she chides him. “You never chill.”

“I’m always chill,” Zuko murmurs back, peeved and distinctly _unchilled_. 

“ _Sure_ ,” Ami scoffs. 

Something wry glints in his eye and he challenges her, “When did you get so sarcastic?” He smiles though, warmly. 

Before she can retort, a “Zuko!” disrupts the peace that Ami had craved for the week her prince was away. 

“Prince Zuko!” another voice calls from outside. A guard bursts through into the chambers and kneels to a knee before him. 

“What is it?” he asks, even though he knows who comes and is already rising out of his seat. 

But the funicular bell did not ring. 

“The daughter of Chief Hakoda has arrived. She says she-”

“I brought the Avatar,” the homewrecker exclaims when she rushes into the room and against protocol. Her eyes are as blue as the loveliest sky, glitter like the finest jewels, and draw all to her. 

“You have?” Zuko mutters, awestruck, walking towards her, leaving Ami behind. 

“The last of the airbenders. He was trapped in an iceberg!” she announces and runs to him, and he nearly takes her in his arms. 

“That’s how he survived,” Zuko says as though he discovered the answer to a great riddle. 

The waterbender grabs onto Zuko’s vest and mutters, “So no matter what my father says, there is always hope. You will have the Avatar on your side, Zuko.”

His face suddenly clears of darkness, his eyes aglow by her light. And Izami simmers. 

Only she had that power with Zuko. Zuko should only belong to her. But now, he looks at the watertribe girl like he is about to kiss her. 

Then a loud cough sounds from the entrance and everyone turns to see a boy, a few years older than Izami, stand in airbender robes - simple but with sumptuous oranges and yellows. He is young, but Izami instantly knows that he will be handsome in the future, his features are gentle but hide a sharp strength. 

“Oh, Aang,” the waterbender says, blithely - as if she did not break so many hearts just then, and turns away from Zuko to draw the boy further into the room. “Zuko, this is Aang.” 

“You’re the airbender?” Zuko says, in the shock that they all behold. “ _You’re_ the Avatar?” 

The boy shrugs. “Uh...yeah, I guess.” 

“But you’re just a child,” Zuko splutters in that way he does when he is thoroughly taken aback. 

“Well, you’re just a teenager,” the boy quickly quips. 

That makes Izami laugh. 

So she laughs and laughs and laughs. 

“Izami!” Zuko scolds her, and all she manages to say is, “But it’s true!”

And the airbender boy smiles. 

* * *

Izami is then ushered out of the room while Mi-Mi and Grandfather are ushered in, and she is obliged to be a good girl and go to her room to work on her calligraphy. 

But she sneaks up into the canopy above the atrium so that she might overhear, as she does when she is bored. 

And she is always bored. 

She hears Zuko raise his voice louder and louder, then _zoom_! A gust of wind and something pale and orange flies out from the room and into the skies. 

Izami can only stare, caught by the empty sky by what had been in it, violent gusts scattering her hair into the air. 

“Aang! Aang, wait!” the watertribe girl calls out, having run out of the solar. 

Izami drops back down to the roof of the canopy, but her gaze can still manage to see Zuko go out and join the waterbender. 

“I cannot believe you found him,” Ami hears Zuko say and she watches fitfully as he steps closer and closer to the _other_ girl - their shoulders nearly touching. “We have the Avatar and we can turn the tide of this war... _and he’s a pacifist_. Of all things-”

That other girl turns to her prince, her hand resting on his arm is such a way that Ami could never do or even reach. “He’ll see, Zuko. Don’t worry. I’ll go talk to him.” She withdraws her touch to walk away. 

“Wait, Katara-” he says, quickly, taking her hand and holding it to the cloth of his vest. “I have something for you.” 

Ami watches as her prince fuddles at his pockets until he pulls out something thin that she cannot determine. 

“Here. I almost got killed trying to barter for this from some pirates.”

“My hero,” the waterbender teases as she takes it from him. 

“Yes,” he mutters, in his joking seriousness. “I’d like a favor from my lady.” 

“Don’t be silly, Zuko.”

“I’m never silly.”

“You’re always silly. I wish you showed that side more often. You’re really cute!”

“I-I am _not_ cute!” Zuko stutters, astounded and embarrassed. 

“Aw, even when you fume, you’re cute,” the girl comments. 

“I-argh, spirits, just open it, would you?!” 

Ami has shut her eyes, at this point. Her skin is on fire and her heart feels all crumbly. 

“It’s a waterbending scroll! Oh, Zuko!” Ami hears the watertribe girl, Katara - _his Katara_ \- say with such elation. 

“I can’t get you a master and I’m sure whatever my Uncle and Mi-Ja taught you will not be enough. I...I thought this might help supplement your foundation until we can find you one.” 

“Oh, Zuko, it’s perfect - I love it. Thank you!” 

“That...that isn’t all…” 

Izami hears him stall and stutter, until the waterbender says, “I’m still not old enough to get married. You have to wait three more months.”

“No-I-oh my gosh, Katara, no, that’s not what I’m asking-I!” 

“I’m kidding. Calm down,” she laughs, “I’m kidding.”

“I want you to be a part of my Council,” he says and Izami suddenly feels cold. 

“I...I’m not too sure what that means.”

“It means a lot of things, but really it just means you’ll be one of my most trusted advisors...I have my uncle, and the captain, and a few odd Earth Kingdom generals, but I want someone who is passionate and strong, who is loving but isn’t afraid to fight. I...I want you..” 

“There are so many other people who can guide you.”

 _Like me_ , thinks Ami. But he did not include her in his list of those he trusted and Ami has never felt more alone and excluded. 

“But only so many who can guide me to be a better ruler, a better person. Katara, I-” 

Izami cannot bear to hear any more. 

She pushes herself off and rushes down the pavilion from the other side, angry and unnecessary tears brimming her eyes. 

The earth seems to swallow her when she lands and she runs through the open yard and through the cloisters to the other end of the temple, running and running until her tears and breath no longer allow her to run any further. 

Angry, mortified, heartbroken, the child stomps on the ground in a fit - 

\- and to her surprise, _the earth churns beneath her_. 

She gasps and jumps away, falling backward in a state - her eyes transfixed on the broken tilings and the whirlpool she created. “What just - did I-?” 

“You might want to be careful when you practice. These buildings are really old.” 

“Practice?” she asks, turning to face the airbender, less surprised at his sudden appearance than what had happened beneath her feet. “Practice what?” 

He makes a face. “Your bending.” 

“But...no, I’m not a bender at all - I can’t be!” she argues, pushing herself off the ground. 

“You’re an earthbender. You...you just moved the earth,” he retorts, confused by her denial.

“But I’m Fire Nation. My father was a firebender; my brothers are firebenders.” 

“And you’re an earthbender,” he says calmly, as if that doesn’t change her world. “It does happen - you really haven’t had a chance to find out? How old are you? Six?” 

“I’m almost nine!” she snaps back, indignant. “How old are you?” 

“I’m twelve,” he responds, looking remorseful that he had offended her. Then quietly, he asks, “You really couldn’t tell? Nothing drew you to the earth? Nothing felt like this? Felt right?” 

A pause reveals her answers from her past as she files through her memories. “I’ve sailed around all my life. Well, for the past two years and I’ve never really gotten to feel the earth...but it always feels better when I do. Mi-mi says that I’ve always loved playing in the dirt.” Her fingers splay out upon the flat surface of the ground as though she can feel the very breath of the earth. “I guess I never had the chance.” 

“I know a great place where you can practice!” the boy says suddenly, grabbing her hand. “We just need to fly over to the next peak over. It’ll be a great place.” 

“Fly?! You can fly!?” she questions as he pulls her up. 

“Well, _I_ can air-glide.” He takes two steps back and slaps the ground with his staff and wings open up with a snap. “But Appa can fly,” he says, a proud and expectant smile on his features. 

She decides to humor him, and her curiosity may be baited - just maybe. “And who’s Appa?” 

“I’ll show you,” he offers then abruptly takes her by the waist. Without thinking, she wraps her arms around his neck when he tells her to hang on. The crown of her head nestles perfectly into his shoulder - and it gives her thoughts. 

But those thoughts dissipate instantly when he launches them into the air. 

She is flying. 

The sensation is overwhelming, terrifying, exhilarating, awful, and wonderful all at once. 

It is everything against her nature and yet fulfilling the barest need of her soul. 

And when he sets her down, she knows that her world will never be the same again. 

The earth does feel _right_. 

Flying through the skies is an adventure; having the ground beneath her feels like home. 

He introduces her to Appa then, after a considerable time being in awe of the creature, Ami climbs into the large saddle. Instantly, her eye is drawn to the adornment in the leather - similar patterns she has seen interwoven throughout the temple architecture. She runs her fingers over the grey intricate stitching. “Do they mean anything?” she asks, eager and ready to absorb anything he might say. 

“It’s my story.” 

“Your story?” 

“As soon as we pair with an air bison, we work on our saddles. We’ll keep adding things that reflect our journeys together until we both grow old.” the monk explains, but not in that _I-know-better_ way that others would. Then he laughs and chirps, “Isn’t that right, Appa?” 

And as the bison roars in response, Ami realizes that she hasn’t heard anyone laugh like that in a long time. 

“The stitches will have to end where you started.” she questions, “Is that when you’ll…?” 

“We’re taught to stitch when significant moments come, and that the knowledge of death should never cause you to worry because it’ll all wrap around again in a circle.”

“That’s beautiful,” Ami mutters, enthralled. 

The boy looks at her over his shoulder and even though she cannot see his smile, she knows he is grinning at her. Then he shouts, “Wanna join me up here?” 

She does not answer and quickly crawls over to the creature’s head where the boy sat with the reins. 

They hear the others calling for them at a distance but Ami is not ready to return to her calligraphy just yet. 

Then the boy asks, suddenly sheepish, “Umm...are they...a thing?” 

“Unfortunately,” Izami mutters back, knowing exactly who he refers to and slouching back into the air bison’s fur. “Zuko says they aren’t, but you can tell. They get all googly-eyes with each other and it’s all gross.” 

The Avatar sighs, as the clouds whisper past. 

“Did you like her?” she asks. 

“Kinda, well,” he mutters as a perfectly pink blush settles on his cheeks, “I thought she was beautiful. It was a nice thing to wake up to after a hundred years.” 

“She’s not a thing,” Ami comments brusquely. “She’s annoying but she’s not a thing.” 

“That’s - that’s not what I meant,” he defends himself. 

She shrugs. “My mother was more beautiful though, according to Mi-Mi and Grandfather.” Talking about mother was always strange to her but it seemed like the thing to say, because she really didn't want to think about Zuko and Katara, and thinking about her mother was always so consuming. 

“Oh.” The boy seems to understand. “How long were they married for?” he asks, shifting the conversation as he leads the bison down to an empty patch. 

Chuckling, she tells him everything—about how Mi-Mi is not married to Grandfather, then about her family, about Zuko, about her time at the temple. 

So then they never go to that perfect place to practice earthbending, instead he beckons her back onto Appa and within the waning hours of daylight left, he shows her everything that the earth could not offer her. 

He points out the cloisters where he would have races, describes the meaning behind the spires, and shows her a cliff where firelight bugs still roam. 

* * *

When darkness falls, she shows him where Zuko buried the remains of their soldiers and his friends - though she never thought they would be people the boy actually knew. 

When he kneels before the dolman, something shudders in the air and energy and it all feels like the deepest melancholy. 

Time had taken so much from him. 

The boy weeps and clutches at a pendant that had been laid on the stone of the memorial. 

“Monk Gyatso was my friend,” the boy whispers, tears streaming down his face. 

“I’m sorry,” the girl says. “I’m so sorry.” 

As she wraps her thin little arms around him, as he cries into her shoulder, Izami thinks about the laughter he could have heard and the life he could have lived. 

She thinks about how there was still so much they haven’t experienced and how there was so much that they shouldn’t have experienced and did. 

War took so much from children. 

She fears how much more the next few years might take, and how alone she might be in the end. So she clutches the boy closer so they can at least share their loneliness. 

## ⧍⧍⧍

They must go to Ba Sing Se. 

Zuko and Aang and stupid Katara and weird Sokka; and they are all leaving her behind. 

_AGAIN._

“But you’ll be going to learn from the greatest earthbender in the Kingdom,” Zuko explains to her repeatedly.

It took Zuko a while to come to terms with Ami being an earthbender; but he was quickly turned by the beauty of Avatar philosophy - of the divisions between the elements being illusions, of that balance between the four elements. 

"That's really neat," Aang muttered when Grandfather Iroh explained all of this to them. Then the young Avatar turned to Zuko and said - but really threatened in a very bright and perky voice, "You know, I'd be a lot more amenable to helping you out if you found Ami and me an earthbending master." 

So Zuko then devoted much of his time finding someone. But now, Ami thinks that going to Omashu and learning from King Bumi is no great consolation for being left behind.

“But I already know all the basic forms,” Ami would retort, her nails digging into her palms as her fists turn her knuckles white. “Why can’t I learn alongside Aang and you all?” 

“This isn’t a training trip for Aang. It’s a diplomatic one. We need the Earth King and his armies if we’re ever going to block the front moving in from the west. Aang is going for _political_ reasons,” he says, trying to placate her - falsely thinking that all the politics of the war bore her, when all it does is exacerbate the fact that she feels excluded. 

Usually, Ami would go to Sokka - as strange as he is, he could always talk sense into Zuko. But he is already in Gaoling, preparing for the journey to Ba Sing Se and gathering political allies there. 

So she must appeal to Katara - unwillingly, but it would be the smartest move. Zuko would do anything to please Katara. 

But, “It’s too dangerous,” the homewrecker says, all sweetness and sad smiles. “I’d love for you to come with us but Zuko is right. He just wants to protect you.” 

Ami yawps into the air. “I’m a princess; not a doll! Besides he and Aang will protect me.” 

Katara takes in the palpable frustration with a wincing smile and starts, “Yes, but it’s still not-”

“Then why are _you_ going? You’re not important,” and guilt quickly interrupts her from saying any more, horrified that she was able to even say that aloud. 

Ami might dislike Katara, but she does not hate her. 

“I’m sorry, Miss Katara,” she quickly apologizes and she means it. “I...I should not have said that. I just...it displeases me knowing that I am always to be left behind.” 

“It’s alright,” Katara returns after a pause, even though it isn’t and that is clear on the waterbender’s face. “I’m sorry that you’re feeling left out. I wish you could come but he’s right. We would all feel safer if you stayed in Omashu with King Bumi. It is not because we think you’re too young.” 

But Ami knows that is a lie. A pretty one - but a lie nevertheless. 

* * *

Her final solace is the library, hidden away on a lofty cliff away from the main area of the temple and only discovered after Aang had shown it to her. 

They both decided to keep it a secret from the others—especially, Sokka. It had become their spot, their hideaway. Ami had spent many late hours sequestered among the shelves of scrolls and dust, with only a sealed jar of firelight bugs and a little flickering candle to light her way into more and more knowledge. She suspects Mi-Mi and Grandfather know how she has been spending her nights but they do not say anything, especially now that she has been established as their strongest connection to Aang. 

He finds her there, her allowance sprawled out on a table with scraps of parchment bearing an escape plan to Ba Sing Se next to maps of their waters and the Earth Kingdom. 

“No dice, huh?” Aang asks, well-meaning but with a hint of teasing. He peers over the materials she hunches over. Momo — a peach-loving flying lemur that Aang had tamed when he arrived — chittered on his shoulders and soared up into the peaks of the shelves. 

“Nope!” Ami yips in loud frustration. Momo screeches in surprise from his perch above them as she tosses her charcoal writing utensil onto the table and leans back with a huff. 

Aang points to the map of the southwest border of the Earth Kingdom. “That’s outdated. Those towns haven’t existed for a while apparently.” 

Ami groans and flattens her body over the table. She hears Aang make that soft snort nose he makes when he finds her amusing. She usually doesn't like it when he does it, but today she is too upset about Zuko and the rest of them to care and Aang is the only one who hasn't upset her today. 

“I wish you could take my place,” Aang mutters after a moment, finding his usual perch on the wide windowsill that opened out to the heavens that now draw his gaze. 

“As Avatar?” Ami questions, stunned by such suggestions. 

“No, just...well, some of it, I guess. You like to talk with people, learn... _confront_.” 

“You don’t want to go,” she acknowledges for him. 

“I don’t want to fight,” he clarifies. 

“I don’t want you to either,” she concludes after a sigh. “I don’t think you’d be very good at it.” 

Aang looks at her, confused, and maybe a little hurt. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Not that you aren’t a good bender, gosh,” she retorts with a roll of her eyes. “You know you are. You’re the Avatar. I just mean that you’re too nice. You would never even want to win a fight.” 

He takes that in stride, with a tight line of his lips as his gaze returns to the scenery. “Yeah, I guess that’s true.” 

Comfort finds its way between them as they stare out at the line where the sea meets the sky. There is always comfort between them and Ami is suddenly very aware of how grateful she is for a friend. She turns to look at Aang. To so many others, he is the Avatar. Their savior, their balance. 

But to her, he's that friend she has always needed. They constantly seek each other out, especially if Zuko is off to handle things for the Blue Rebellion and cannot command their friendship to serve his aims in ways that usually end up with them sitting for a lesson on Earth Kingdom city-state and district politics or the economics of transnational cabbage sales.

So they do all that they can to get out of those lessons and they do it together. They eat their meals together, play games in the courtyard together, explore and repair ruins. She will run through the poles of the airball field while he soars above her.

The Air Temple had children laughing in its walls again. 

Ami had once overheard Mi-Mi talk to Zuko about them, that "They need each other, my prince," she had said. "Let them be children. They both deserve that much and they certainly deserve each other." 

And Ami liked the sound of that. 

She has gained another older brother. She would like to gain a sister at some point, and Katara is competition. Not a sister. 

But none of that will matter because they are leaving her, flying away and leaving her grounded - 'where she belongs'. 

“You get to go on another adventure and I have to go and learn earthbending from that kooky old king in Omashu.” 

Aang snorts. “Bumi isn’t that bad.” 

“Yes, he is,” Ami insists. “He’s old and smelly and talks in riddles and I get enough of that from Grandfather and Mi-Mi.” She faces him, suddenly and with purpose and he jolts at such intense attention. “Don’t you just want to run away from everything and travel the world?” she asks him. 

He cocks his head. “But I thought you already traveled the world?

“Yeah, but I never got to go _see_ anything. Just docks and buildings and meeting rooms and more docks. Did you know there’s a huge swamp in the Earth Kingdom where waterbenders might live?” 

“Really?” Aang says, a sparkle in his eye and Ami loves that he genuinely means his interest. He is always interested in what she has to say. 

“Yeah, I read a book about it - and,” the frustration of her situation returns to her as she remembers that, “Ba Sing Se has a university there and even though girls don’t get to join-”

“That hasn’t changed?” Aang gasps. “That’s stupid.”

“I know, right?” she responds quickly and with far too much energy and cheek than rightly befits a princess. But she doesn’t have to be a princess with Aang. She slouches back into herself with a sigh. “They have a huge library. The biggest in the world. I’d love to go. I just want to read,” she ends with a dejected sigh. 

“I can bring back a book for you. If you want,” he offers. 

“Really? You would do that?” Her spirits rise an inch. 

He shrugs. “Sure, what kind of book?”

“Can you get me a book about airbenders?” 

“...” he is struck, then looks about the small library at the shelves of scrolls and books ready for her perusal. “Really?”

“I already read almost everything,” she answers. “And, like, I get you’re an Airbender and there’s the library here - but you were saying that all the temples had different architecture and stuff. I want to learn about those too!” she provides, her eagerness unabated for she knows that texts and tomes contain much, certainly, but only so much. 

“Sure,” he smiles, almost immediately. “I'll do that." 

“Then!” she shouts, standing tall and ready. 

“Then what?” A bit perturbed. 

“Let’s go on a vacation.” 

“What?” he asks, unsure if she was joking or if she finally lost it. 

“Let’s go on a vacation,” she repeats. “We’ll go to the swamp and then to Ember Island and—”

“Oh!” His eyes are bright. “I always wanted to ride the Unagi.”

Her eyes widen. “It’s a real thing?!” 

“Yeah! Zuko was saying that it—” he quickly takes on an air of dramatic sobriety and with his Zuko-voice says, ‘— _i_ _mpedes our naval strategies'_.” Then he huffs at the end, still in character, and they both dissolve into laughter. 

“Then yeah, let’s do that too!” 

“That sounds great, actually,” Aang mutters as he looks out of the window again, out into the world just beyond his reach, the world that duty bars him from exploring. “A vacation.” 

“Just the two of us.” She joins him at the window, to overlook the mountains that disappear into the dark waters of their southern seas. “No stuffy adults. No Zuko or Katara.” 

“No rules and demands. No Sokka with his schedules,” he moans. 

Izami chuckles at that, the wind whispering past them as they gaze out into the open, relishing the fact that, for now, they can just be children looking out over the sea. 

For now, she is content.

“Patience is always rewarded,” Izami mutters the first line to some great philosophy. 

“For the timing of the Spirits is always just,” Aang finishes. He turns to her, his gaze drawn from the view, from the moment. “Your time will come, Izami.” He gives her a smile, a beautiful one with all his teeth and no disingenuity. “Don’t worry.” 

Then and there, she decides to be patient. She decides to wait for the perfect moment. 

* * *

A child who has spent the majority of her life dancing on the deck of a boat can only dream of flying through the skies. Her feet will always remain grounded, into the deep rich earth where she belongs. But her goals, her aspirations, her life will draw her to the heavens and beyond. 

The world may not take her, but she will belong to the world in its entirety. 

There is no greater story than that of a bird who spreads her wings. 

She will show them all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I firmly believe that Aang should have ended up with someone who would have WANTED to help him build his culture —and not out of some sense of obligation because of a relationship— so Ami was born. She is named after Izanami, one of the creation gods of Japanese culture.  
> Her personality was inspired by my intense Egyptian and Greek God phase at around that age - which I'm sure others have had lol  
> And, if it wasn't that clear - Ami is an earthbender through Yong's side since his parentage is dubious. I haven't decided yet but I also thought it wasn't that important to clarify.


	5. The Crown Princess

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning! There is a section of noncon. It is not explicit but the words "King. Queen. Princess." will let you know when the scene is coming if you want to skip it and go on ahead to the section past the triangles. 
> 
> This chapter concentrates on Azula and I feel like she's her own warning.

# The Crown Princess 

# {Azula}

△

_Tools are meant for use_

_Lies, loves, and links are wielded_

_At hearts unshielded_

▽

Azula has always been a practical person. Pretty little poems and metaphors for her life are unnecessary and frankly, asinine. 

But, if she were to be described by the poets who will laud her person and establish her legacy in the years that will follow, only one creature would suffice. 

She could only be written in the tomes of lore as a leopard-fox. 

For she is graceful, and fearsome, and solitary. 

Cloaked in red and black, she would be the ruler of the jungle and all would tremble in her presence and wake. She is the lone predator that stalks the realm of vines and trees and chaos; and enacts her social order as she preys upon those who are weak. 

A leopard-fox is cunning and shrewd, yes, but the leopard-fox is foremost formidable because of its sheer physical strength. It will trap its prey for sport, yet it is the force of its jaw and fangs, its powerful and swift limbs, and its keen eyes that grant the leopard-fox strength and renown. With such powerful tools at its disposal both sense and nature dictate that such a creature should employ them. 

It is the way of things. 

Azula considered this as she watched the daughter of a nobleman weep uncontrollably, writhing and sobbing on the ground, after Azula cut her hair. 

She watched as the maids and attendants scrambled around like komodo chickens with their heads cut off trying to placate the girl and trying not to look at Azula with the disdain and fear they certainly felt. 

Then, the Queen stepped in. 

“Azula, apologize.” 

“I’m sorry,” Azula gave instantly, a dramatized whiny lilt to her voice, her gaze pinned to the girl who has been reduced to shivering. “Your hair was just so pretty. I just wanted to-” 

“No lies, Azula,” the queen commanded sharply. 

Azula sneered, but only for a fraction of a second. “I wanted your hair out of the way,” was what she finally decided to say. It was the truth, but not wholly. “I’m sorry. It looked like it was bothering you.” 

The princess looked at the queen, studying her facial response. But all Tsukihi did was nod. “Bring her to my personal stylist. And who knows,” a warm smile suddenly appeared as the queen knelt down before the girl, a gentle touch floating about her face, “Perhaps this will be the new style.” 

The maids bowed and the girl was whisked away. 

The queen then stood and regarded the crown princess. “Azula, you know better.” 

As a girl of nearly twelve and already a master firebender, Azula thought not. “I’ve seen others do worse at the Academy.” 

“Then perhaps you shouldn’t be at the Academy,” the queen retorted and beckoned her into her personal chambers. Then called for tea. 

Azula sat upon the sumptuous cushions as the maids and ladies-in-waiting set the table and brought out a steaming pot. The scent of ginger and spice wafted into the air. The winter season was coming and the air was cooling in the day as it does in the evenings. The servant girl set down a tray at the low table and painstakingly placed each dish and cup upon it with great care and deference. 

It was the queen’s personal set — a favorite that used the _kinziuli_ , the art of repairing broken pottery with gold and silver lacquer. Azula could not understand why the queen would use it if they were broken and when there were sets of pure gold and prettier designs. The cups and dishes were mismatched and unseemly; the only thing tying them thematically was the slivers of gold woven in their cracks. 

“So why did you cut her hair, my dear?” the queen asked as she gestured the servant away and poured the tea herself. 

Azula shrugged. “I just felt like it.” 

“Azula, you never do things without a reason. Something must have compelled you, no?” A humored smile danced on the queen’s lips. 

The girl felt herself scowl slightly. She never liked how _playful_ Tsukihi would be when reprimanding her, like everything was this fantastic jape that only the queen was privy to. So Azula snipped, “She was rude and being rude to a member of the royal family deserves recompense.” 

“Recompense, hmm?” was all Tsukihi muttered as she slid a full teacup to Azula. 

Azula took it with both hands - as was respectful - and drank a small polite sip. The sharp and overwhelming taste of ginger flooded her senses and searing hot, like she preferred. 

Ginger tea was her favorite. 

But it was the Queen’s least favorite and Azula spied her wince as Tsukihi drank from her own cup. She always preferred tea lukewarm too, Azula remembered. 

“Why would you drink it if you hate it?” Azula interrogated, setting her own cup down. 

“Because it has healthful properties,” the queen responded evenly, patting the swell of her stomach - full with the half-sibling she would soon bear Azula - then Tsukihi grinned. “And because you like it. I like sharing things with you, Azula.” 

The princess looked away. She could never respond as she wanted when confronted with the queen’s particular type of affection; she always reacted. Tsukihi never treated her like others did, like how Father did — or even her own mother, for that matter. Her affection was always offensive and substantial; and it unnerved her, though Azula would loathe to admit such a thing. 

Anyone else would make some sort of excuse interposed with lines of great praise and how honored they were to be in Azula’s presence, give her what she wanted, then leave as quickly as Azula would forget about them.

“Well, I don’t,” she stated. “And you don’t need to know everything that goes on in my life. The girl deserved it and that’s that,” she ended with a final huff. 

The queen hummed in thought, staring at the cup in her hands. They continued to drink in quietude and Azula was tempted to burn the table just so that she could leave in the chaos that would erupt. She had done the same to others, let them stew in silence until they caved in to her whims, but she hated being the recipient of such silences. 

After finishing her cup, Tsukihi then turned to the servant girl at the door and said, “You know, I think I would like some buckwheat tea, Mae-yin, could you bring me some?” 

The servants bowed low and scuttled away without a word while Azula sneered. 

“Buckwheat tea is for peasants.” 

Tsukihi frowned before taking a breath and saying, “Well, I guess it’s a good thing I’m queen then and I get to enjoy whatever I want. Even spending time with my difficult daughter.” 

“I’m not your daughter,” Azula snapped. “You’re not my mother. You’re just a whore who seduced my father to make herself queen.” 

Tsukihi tilted her head and when the pause became unbearable, she quipped, “Yes, and?” 

The tension dissipated in an instant, like a sudden plunge into a cold pool. Azula rolled her eyes while the queen laughed lightly, though no longer in that carefree way the queen had before she was queen. 

“I’ve heard those words so much, Azula, I’ve gotten quite used to them by now. But I know the truth and even if I did seduce your father I am still queen in the end, aren’t I?” Now Tsukihi gazed directly at her with the confidence and grandeur that Azula never saw her birth mother command, and it compelled Azula to straighten her spine and set her jaw. 

“What did she do, Azula? She will receive just recompense if she did upset you.” The queen reached over to gingerly touch Azula’s hand from across the table and the princess flinched her hand back. 

“She laughed at me,” Azula seethed, despising the chill of shame rising in her. “She laughed at me for never kissing a boy so I cut off her stupid hair since she kept flipping it whenever Zuko or a guard walked by.” 

“Ah,” the queen uttered, her outstretched hand retreating back to her, and only watched as the tea in Azula’s cup nearly began to boil again. “I see,” she said after a lengthy pause. “Then I suppose a few weeks with an awful haircut _would be_ fair.” 

Azula hid the smirk that had formed at her lips by lifting her teacup. 

Then, suddenly, a little child burst into the hall, calling out, “Your majesty,” then stopped immediately at the sight of Azula. 

The princess frowned as the child greeted, “Good afternoon, your highness.” 

Azula nodded, remembering that the child was the daughter of the cook. 

“Hello, Qun,” the queen twittered prettily, beckoning the child to come forth. Obediently, the little girl inched over to her, still looking ever wary of Azula, before unearthing her hands to show a small delicate flower of white rounded petals with silver-gold pistils. 

“I wanted to show you this,” the soft mousy voice of the child whispered. “The moon blossoms are out now.” 

“Oh, my dear, it is lovely,” crooned Tsukihi. “Did you get this from the garden?” 

The girl nodded. "My brother showed me." 

"Your brother has a very good eye," the queen whispers. "He also has the best taste in candies."

“Picking something from the Pavilion gardens is a punishable offense, child,” Azula commented, suddenly impatient and sharp. 

The girl hiccuped in shock and looked to the queen in terror. Tsukihi rounded a reproving look at the princess, who only shrugged blithely. “Do not worry, little one,” Tsukihi said, cupping the little girl’s face in her hands. “I had asked you to bring me the first one you saw, hadn’t I?” 

The girl nodded. 

“So no worries. And it is providential that you have come, my dear. I got the sudden craving for rabbit-duck. If you could do me this great service, could you go and tell your father that I would like some tonight? He always uses that sauce I like.” 

The child smiled greatly and the queen set a small kiss upon her forehead before sending her off. 

Meanwhile, Azula merely watched with a sullen scowl. “You love so easily,” she said once the girl was gone. It was not a compliment.

The queen hummed again. “I suppose.” 

“Why? It’s ridiculous,” she scoffed. “Fawning over some meaningless creature.” 

“Does one need a reason to love or be loved? No one is without meaning, Azula.”

Azula simmered, something burning inside her, “So love is a tool?” 

The queen turned and considered her, eyes boring into Azula until she felt stiff and uncomfortable. This dynamic was so different from before, from when Tsukihi was just Sun and they would sneak out into the town and get ices and play pranks on stuck-up courtiers. 

“Love is my only weapon, Azula,” Tsukihi finally said. “I use it proudly and well. The girl’s father is the best cook in the kitchens and I’ve been enjoying his favor,” she ended with a japing tone again. 

Azula ignored it. “People will take advantage of you. They _have_ taken advantage of you.” 

The queen sighed, “I don’t want to talk about that right now, Azula.”

The princess sat up in triumph, eager to delve into this new arena of vulnerability that did not concern her. “Don’t want to talk about how your aunt and uncle convinced you into giving them several _hundred thousand_ gold pieces?” 

“Azula.” 

“What? I’m just curious. It doesn’t seem like a very sound financial practice considering Lord Chui’s penchant for gambling.” 

The queen sighed again dreadfully. “Runs in the family, I’m afraid. My grandfather was a notorious frequenter of the racehouses.” Then she cringed as she tilted back, her hand at her stomach. The servant girl standing at the wall rushed forward and Tsukihi waved her concern away. “It’s just my back. It happens when you’re pregnant.” 

“You would know,” Azula commented snidely. 

“That was rude, Azula,” the queen quickly rejoined while the servant looked absolutely mortified. “And being rude to a member of the royal family deserves recompense, does it not?” she then ended wryly and Azula scoffed. 

“And!” the queen began heartily. “I have come up with your punishment.” 

Azula groaned, already knowing what was to come. “Please, don’t-”

“You have to give me a hug! Come on!” the queen laughed drolly, reaching her arms out. Azula groaned and moaned and huffed and puffed as she threw down her cup and trudged her way over to her stepmother and begrudgingly fell into her arms. 

Limbs draped around her and Azula tilted her head awkwardly into the queen’s bosom and she stayed there a moment. As the moment grew softer, Azula noticed that Tsukihi smelled of cinnamon and cloves and suddenly, she realized that she never knew this kind of warmth from Ursa. 

“I’m sorry that girl ridiculed you,” Tsukihi muttered softly as she stroked Azula’s hair. “She should not have. There is no shame in knowing romance a little later in life. I never kissed a boy until I came to the Pavilion.” 

“That’s not what the captain said,” Azula mumbled. 

Tsukihi quickly retorted, “Kisses at four do not count.” 

Azula fumed, finding herself unraveling in this unwanted and warm embrace, her frustrations boiling at the surface. “I don’t want to kiss boys but when your child is born father will forget about me and sell me off to the highest bidder to be a little wife.” 

“He won’t. I won’t let him as long as you don’t want to. I want you to enjoy your girlhood. But I also want you to do better.”

Azula did not respond.

“The girl should not have ridiculed you but you should not have reacted like that. There are better ways to express your anger. You know that; I’ve seen you. But you choose to be cruel, Azula. I understand that things spill out of you that you cannot help but you are smarter and better than how you acted today. You are incorrigible, difficult, and terrifying, Azula. I will not lie to you. But we all have our flaws—”

“ _I do not have flaws_ ,” Azula spat. 

The queen just leveled a gaze of disbelief her way - which Azula did _not_ appreciate - and she repeated, “We all have our flaws, that is what makes us unique and worthy of love and despite what you might think, my dear, you are worthy of love too. We can all be fixed, we can all grow.” 

“I’m not broken,” snarled Azula as she pushed herself out of Tsukihi’s embrace. 

“No...but you are young,” Tsukihi gave, still holding Azula’s wrists and keeping her close. 

“I don’t like it when you are like this,” Azula hissed. “When you try to act like a mother instead of a -” 

Azula could not finish, she could not even think of what she had wanted Tsukihi to be to her. _She —_ the princess who knew what and where everyone should be in relation to her, the crown who would lead a greater and brighter empire. 

She did not know. 

Tsukihi smiled — something sad and distant and mournful. “You used to call me older sister...I remember.” 

The princess pulled away completely now and began to stalk out of the room. 

“Azula!” the queen called out and Azula, despite her anger, stilled. 

“It’s been a while since we’ve had Ty Lee and Mai here. It would be nice to have them over the holidays, wouldn’t it, instead of just seeing them at school? Let’s invite them over for tea tomorrow.” 

A gong could have sounded and its note could have rung out into the air for its full course until Azula finally took a breath and responded. “Fine,” she bit, turning and stalking away, discontent that she now found something she feared — this unnamed thing that borders on fear and affection. 

* * *

What is she to do when confronted with something like love? 

## ⧍⧍⧍

After her matriculation from the Academy, Azula is welcomed back with little but acceptable fanfare. The queen throws a small fete to which she had invited some other girls in her year and their parents. They dine together in a sharp rectangular formation that does not break even when the food is shuffled away to be replaced with entertainment. The instrumentalists begin with the national anthem and the girls recite the oath together - Lo and Li leading, while Azula sits atop the low stage and revels in the deference her crown offers her. 

She is the Crown and she begins to take that role seriously. 

Father has been including Azula in the Privy Council meetings. The councilors - all men except for the young Fireguard captain that replaced Captain Mi-Ja - take their seats in the gilded hall of the Council chambers, draped in red and crimson, and report the state of state affairs. 

It has been a poor year for crop yields in the nation, but there is bounty in the colonies. However, transportation has become an issue due to interference from locals and the Rebellion, says the Minister of Agriculture. 

Crime has decreased almost immediately after the Firelord’s implementation of their sheriff program in major cities throughout the empire, provides the Minister of Laws and Civil Order. 

The reeducation camps of the sexually depraved had seen excellent fruit as many rescinded their sinful ways, exalts the Minister of Social Order. 

It goes like this, every week — bad news littered in the deluge of praise and exuberance, and Azula learns to read between the lines. 

The Rebellion is not the only one interrupting the flow of imported goods, there is some extra gold lining the Minister’s pocket after all. 

The harsher and capital punishments for petty thieves and derelicts has led these sheriffs to become drunk with cruel power, but crimes committed by sheriffs are not crimes. 

The title of being sexually depraved is for those without rank or title, even Father and Grandfather kept catamites and she is sure that the friend Zuko had from his school days was more than a friend. 

Life goes on, and men make the world turn then stall with their greed and thirst for control. Her father is not blind to this; he is no raving tyrant who cannot discern when people lie to him. He knows and acts accordingly. His orders and decrees are swift and forceful, like the stroke of a sword through flesh. 

Azula follows in suit. 

She does not care whether or not these men are greedy and despicable, she simply cares whether or not they are useful or if they have wronged her. She collects information for when she will rule. She was born into a world of palace intrigue and unlike her mother and Zuko, Azula will not succumb to it. No, she will rule. 

She mentions to Father that the daughter of the Minister of Agriculture partakes in premier rice wine from the fields of the Earth Kingdom colonies that does not even make it to the palace. The man is replaced by the next council meeting. 

She finds a pliable and bribable sheriff to report to her about the affairs of his colleagues - and she means _literal_ affairs. One sheriff is the lover of the wife of an undersecretary who had the gall to run his palm against Mai's backside during a party. The scandal that erupts is one that even the poets and playwrights write of. The sheriff is mutilated for touching one above his station, the wife became a social pariah for being tempted by one so low, and the undersecretary was demoted for not having his affairs in order. If he could not handle his own household, how could he possibly handle ministry affairs? Ultimately, the name of the undersecretary becomes synonymous with cuckoldry and perversion. 

She discovers that the queen has befriended a young courtier who people suspected to be one of Father’s catamites. A week after her discovery there is another rumor winding its way through the servant girls then up the ranks - that the nobleman took both the Firelord and the Firelady to bed. A week after that, he becomes the first of noble blood to enter the reeducation camps and the queen’s schedule becomes miraculously free for Azula’s whims. 

By the time the princess turns fourteen, she has established contingencies against every single person in the Privy Council, including her own father. 

Just in case, of course. 

Her father has guaranteed that she will rule after him, but Sozai’s existence - as young as he is - is a constant and looming factor that she does not want to risk. 

One particular evening, in the fourth year of Ozai’s reign, his spies confirm what Azula had known for months now - that Zuko is the Blue Rebellion. Azula would even go so far as to say that he is the Blue Spirit because, _of course_ , Zuko would dress up and play around as the character from his favorite stories as a child. 

He really needs to stop being so predictable, Azula thinks to herself, especially since Father does not need that sort of confirmation so early in Zuko’s budding political career. 

And she must admit that Zuko’s political acumen is only budding. He makes enough mistakes, loses his temper enough, has his _Blue Rebellion_ react rather than respond strategically to demonstrate that her brother is still a child in many ways. 

Meanwhile, her father fumes in cold consideration and a tightness in his features. But beneath the calm there is a storm. 

The Firelord’s reputation suffered significantly after Zuko’s banishment, no matter what the courtiers say to his face. It is the murmured lines in the hall and the fearful disdain in the servants’ eyes that speak the truth. 

The sheriffs are arresting more and more youths in the colonies with blue kerchiefs tied on their wrists and red paint over their eyes. 

There are reports of deserters from the army reserve that foot soldiers recognize across battle lines, firebenders bearing a flag as blue as the azure sea and the morning sky. 

There are rumors of sages preaching about the divine right of primogeniture, long-winded homilies about how Agni blessed those born first into the world and the delicate balance of the order Agni desires. 

There are whispers that Prince Zuko seeks to overthrow the Firelord. 

If there is one thing that will infuriate Firelord Ozai immediately - it is a mention of his first-born son. 

No sooner than the news of Zuko’s involvement in the Rebellion reaches his ears, Father makes all his councilors leave. They vacate the chambers immediately. There is a sudden flurry of sounds, of clothed feet scuffling across the lacquered floors, papers and scrolls rustling - then silence. 

“No, Azula, you stay,” he hisses like a wisp of flame when Azula rose from her seat. 

“Your brother is a traitor and your uncle is no doubt aiding him. This must be dealt with internally.” 

Azula quickly manipulates her body so that she now kneels before him, like a guard at the feet of her captain, ready to receive her task. 

“You will bring Zuko here to face judgment. Kill Iroh if you must.”

Azula could not help the smile that spread across her lips — she was being chosen, tasked with a great burden and opportunity. She would restore the honor of their family, strip it of weakness and vulnerability. 

Then, “Bring the queen in,” the Firelord orders one of the guards in an even tone and dismisses Azula with a wave. 

Azula does as she always does, she slips behind the tapestries and watches as guards bring in the queen. 

Her father orders the guards out, then the servants until it is only them in the room. 

King. Queen. Princess. 

Azula chuckles to herself in her mind. What a stilted family portrait they would make.

Azula watches them argue. Father never shouts unless it is at Tsukihi, and that one time during his Agni Kai against Zuko. 

Her breathing stops as she hears his voice reach louder and louder pitches after each exchange. 

“I’ll kill you if you try to help them in any way." His voice rings through the air like the great boom of a war drum.

But the queen returns his forcefulness with a seething, “Go ahead, you treacherous toad.” 

“Any inclination and I’ll have you and your children hanging in the city square!” 

“Did not my womb give you and this world your heir? Is Azula not my child by law? You speak of these things as if you had no hand in it — if Iroh and Zuko return to claim the throne then it is by your weakness and no one else’s!” 

“Must you always challenge me, wench?!” 

“Always.” 

Ozai reaches out and grips his queen to him as if she were a disobedient ostrich-horse that needed to be wrangled into its pen. Azula half-expects her father to raise his hand against Tsukihi, but instead, he pushes her down. 

Azula watches. 

Then Azula realizes. 

She watches as her father clambers over his wife, fire wild in his eyes like a rage.

Azula watches - caught and eventually, perturbed - as the Firelord beds the queen in the middle of the council chamber. 

Azula watches as Tsukihi’s screams become heavy breaths and quiet tears. 

* * *

Then, when she pushes Ty Lee into a small cramped room on her ship and kisses her with the ferocity a beast has as it devours its prey - only for Ty Lee to return this brutal affection with sweet giggling and soft pecking of her lips down to Azula’s neck, the Crown Princess knows not what to think, and hates that too. 

## ⧍⧍⧍

For all the trouble the city caused for the Fire Nation army, Ba Sing Se is awfully easy to infiltrate when you have the skill and the luck to do so. And Azula has both in abundance. 

Yes, it was luck that had brought Azula to the Kyoshi Warriors when she started trailing the Avatar’s air bison from Omashu. But it was her skill that allowed her to subdue them. 

It was her discernment, furthermore, that gave her, Ty Lee, and Mai the opportunity to enter the city and go straight to the throne room of the insipid Earth king. 

But, it was surely luck that let her run into the Avatar all in his lonesome. 

Ah, the Avatar. 

How ironic it was that the spirits gifted the combined powers and might of all the elements to a child who - above all things - craves friendship and simplicity. 

At their first meeting, the airbender boy profusely apologized for not remembering her from Kyoshi Island and Azula assured him that it was quite alright. Then he and Ty Lee went on like a flame and oil, instantly and eagerly, discussing philosophy and energy and objects of affection. 

Even Mai seemed charmed by his simple pleasantness rather than be annoyed by it, as she typically would be. 

He tells them so much in their short meeting, and yet so little. The princess is able to sparse enough by his chatter but it comes at a cost. And that cost was learning about the perfect consistency of fruit curd. 

Eventually, she learns that this little troupe of Zuko’s, which includes the Avatar and some peripheral water tribe peasants and earthbenders, had just decided to go their separate ways to return and regroup for an invasion. 

“An invasion?” Azula asks, prodding for more. 

“Oh, uh, yeah,” he utters, his words suddenly slithering here and there, providing nothing until he tells them that he, in fact, is about to head over to the Eastern Air Temple to learn how to learn from a guru. 

“Oh, I wish I could go with you and learn!” Ty Lee twitters gaily. “A session with a guru would do wonders for my aura.” 

The boy blushes out of sudden timidity. “It’ll probably be pretty boring. But I could come back and tell you what I learned? I’ll be back in a week. Everyone else should be back by then too. I’m sure Sokka will be happy to see you guys.” 

“That’d be great!” Ty Lee chirps like a sparrowkeet. 

“Yes, it would be,” Azula gives evenly. “We’ll definitely be here when you return.” 

The boy grins broadly and without any pretense; and Azula wonders if she has ever met anyone so naive and innocent. Then he mentions, “My friend Ami should be here too by then. You’ll really like her. She’s really into airbender history as well.” 

Azula is not easily startled, but if it concerns her family, it takes a bit more self-control to fortify her expression. But she says nothing, and does not react. Thankfully, Ty Lee and Mai give nothing away either and they send the Avatar off with a bow. 

“You’ll see your siblings again, Azula,” Ty Lee mutters, half in concern and half in anticipation. 

“Well, that was the point, wasn’t it?” Azula retorts and starts walking off to the guest quarters of the Earth Kingdom palace. The overabundance of green and brown looks so distasteful in her eyes. 

In the privacy of their rooms, Mai asks why she did not subdue the Avatar then and there. “He’ll be too powerful when he returns,” she comments in that dry level tone of hers. 

“True. But then he will be a powerful _tool_. He has no love for Zuko or for his endeavors. That much was readily obvious. The boy didn't mention Zuko once. Besides, now we have the perfect opportunity to utilize his absence.”

“And what’s that?” Mai asks blandly. 

Azula walks to the window, her hands clasped behind her as she gazes out into the gardens, the map of her mind unfurling and presenting all the things she can do here and now. 

“To conquer the whole Earth Kingdom.” 

Her father cannot begrudge her for dealing with Zuko a little bit later in order to take advantage of the current vulnerabilities of the Earth Kingdom. 

“For a hundred years the fire nation has hammered away at Ba Sing Se from the outside. But now we are on the inside, and we can take it by ourselves.”

“Gosh, you're so confident. I really admire that about you,” Ty Lee praises. 

Azula cannot help but preen as she continues, “From the inside we're in the perfect position to organize a coup and overthrow the Earth King. The key is the Dai Li. Whoever controls the Dai Li, controls Ba Sing Se. And all of Zuko’s plans will fall through his fingers like sand.” 

The pieces of the board are coming together. 

The Avatar. 

The Dai Li. 

The king. 

And even her little sister. 

“Where _is_ our little sister-cousin?” she asks Zuko when they have all gathered in the catacombs of the palace.

“Safe,” Zuko spits, his anger and fear overtaking. “Far away from where you can find her.” 

“Oh," she sighs with obvious facetiousness. "That’s too bad. I was so looking forward to seeing her - it would be nice, wouldn’t it, Zuzu? If we all met in Omashu like I’d hoped?” 

“What…” His entire person falters, the slightest release from his stance shows. “What do you mean?”

For their first meeting in years, this tense exchange is everything that Azula expects it to be. Zuko is everything she expects him to be, though - and she will admit this - he is a bit _more_ than she anticipated. 

He is confident, self-assured, worldly, and — dare she say it — _competent_. He orders the others around him with ease and skill that he never had when it came to their lessons. Hardship and travel birthed him into an actual prince. 

But love and affection still hold him back, still make him stumble. 

She paces across the dirt, feeling and testing the air with her fingertips, waiting for the right moment to set off a spark. “I mean that the Fire Nation army stormed Omashu about a month ago. Mai’s father has been its governor for weeks now. You remember Mai, don’t you? She’s just upstairs. I’m sure she’d love to see you again.” 

Zuko’s frown deepens, which is what Azula knew he would do. What she did not expect though was the waterbender at his side to react. 

Azula smiles. 

The final piece showed herself. 

“Oh, I see,” she cannot help but laugh. Zuko always craved love, sought after it like a stalk of vine searching for the sun. He will lower himself, debase himself, for it. “You got yourself a little bed warmer for lonely nights, then, Zuzu? I’m surprised you’d choose a waterbender. I’d imagine she’s pretty frigid.” 

The reaction is immediate — air, water, and fire all swarm at her in unison, in sudden anger. She deflects with ease and her Dai Li agents fall into formation as her shield. 

It is a fierce dance, their bending of their elements - and Azula is reminded of an opera on a stage. The princess inherited only one thing from her mother, and to the surprise of many, it was a love for the theatre. Her father and brother always hated having to go to the performances on Ember Island, but this was something Azula could be excited about — the costumes, the delivery, the spectacle. With all of this movement and misery and dramatic tension, the princess cannot help but think of a grand stage - all the players have come together for their final climactic moment. 

She is both director and audience, and the stage demands a tragedy.

Thankfully, Azula knows the perfect damsel. 

Dodging blows and slithering between opponents, Azula deftly finds the perfect moment to grab the waterbender and twist her pretty lithe arm around her. A nearby Dai Li agent anticipates her decision and traps the girl’s limbs in earth to prevent her from bending. 

“Katara!” 

But it is not Zuko who shouts her name like a concerned lover, it is the Avatar. 

The airbender boy glares at Azula, fixing his complete attention upon her. “Let her go!” he seethes, exuding a rage that was certainly uncharacteristic of him, but it only confirmed Azula’s suspicions. 

“Or what, avatar? One wrong move and she dies,” she says as she ignites a flame at her fingertips, right at the pretty girl’s neck.

“You won’t get away with this,” the waterbender spits, with enough spirit to make Azula think she would make an excellent firebender. 

“She won’t hurt you,” Zuko utters, in a surprisingly even tone. But his outstretched hands tremble. “She wants me.” 

“Goodness, Zuzu, you _have_ gotten better,” Azula trills, enthralled by this new and improved Zuko. She really is. 

“Let her go, Azula. Take me instead.” 

“You’re willing to risk so much for _her_ , Zuko? Really?” Azula articulates, her voice mocking. 

Zuko does not respond, and she uses his hesitation as the moment to strike. 

She thrusts her hand out and sends a line of crackling lightning, long and sinuous like a gnarled root, right at the Avatar. 

And his heart. 

* * *

As the Avatar falls and the stage erupts with the chaos of this narrative she has guided and crafted, the crown princess just finds it funny that people will do so much for love on and off the stage. 

How awful it would be to be so defined by the others around you, she thinks. 

But in the depths of her mind, in her person, in her soul if she really wants to be poetic, there was that small little voice that told her that she is no different.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHEW  
> God, that was hard. Azula is a hard character to write and I will definitely go back and tweak a few things but yeah, there you go - a glimpse into everyone's favorite 14 y.o. villain. 
> 
> I wanted to explore Azula's weaknesses and motivations. I hope you noticed that a main theme of this chapter was how much Azula lies to herself. She claims that metaphors are asinine but she uses the most. She claims that she doesn't need love and will disparage Zuko for seeking it out but will seek affirmation herself. 
> 
> I always wondered how Azula would turn out if she had better role models in her life so just as Zuko fights with internal dragons/beasts, Azula does too. 
> 
> Anyway, I've been enjoying the Avatar renaissance and I'm totally on the Zukka train now too lol - so there's going to be a bit of a teaser in coming chapters about that. But Zutara still holds my heart lol
> 
> TIMELINE! Since it's a bit distorted in this au:
> 
>   * Zuko is banished at 13 
>   * Zuko with help from the White Lotus leads the Blue Rebellion for two years 
>   * the Iceberg is discovered by Katara and Sokka 
>   * The Gaang set out to Ba Sing Se while Ami goes to Omashu 
>   * The Swamp calls Aang and they pick up Toph as a result 
>   * Azula trails Ami to Omashu and helps with the occupation of the city but Ami is whisked away by the Rebellion before she can meet Azula; Azula picks up Mai and Ty Lee 
>   * The Gaang hear about Omashu but Zuko urges everyone to go on ahead to Ba Sing Se and that deepens the rift between Zuko and Aang 
>   * Sokka still insists on finding the Wan Shi Tong library and Appa is still taken 
>   * Azula is not at the Drill and instead does much more reconnaissance and dismantling smaller branches of the rebellion until she gains enough information to start trailing Appa 
>   * Azula finds the Kyoshi Warriors and Appa while the Gaang still search for him and deal with Long Feng as they do in canon 
>   * The Gaang still split up - Katara is still the one who stays behind and Zuko and Sokka go to Chameleon Bay to discuss plans with Hakoda and eventually make their way up to the NWT to gather forces for the invasion so Aang is left alone before he heads to meet with the Guru 
>   * Aang still relinquishes mastery of the Avatar state when Azula captures Katara once she figures out that they are not the Kyoshi warriors 
>   * CROSSROADS OF DESTINTY 
> 



End file.
